Where The Law Stands Tall
by jerseydanielgibson
Summary: Deputy Sam Collins has discovered discrepancies in customs logs involving a Kolwoon-Class ship. Traveling to the remote planet of Revan to track down what appears to be a smugglers' port-of-call, she has bitten off more than she can chew. Joined by three non-humans who are more than they appear, a rookie cop stands tall amidst diabolical plots and a shadowy criminal empire. (Done!)
1. Revan, I

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare._

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins looked at the coordinates one more time as she approached the planet Revan, second planet to Thermopile in the Artemis Tau Cluster. She checked the latitude and longitude in relation to the planet once more, every celestial body in Systems Alliance Space given the exact same grid pattern regardless of size or composition for better navigational purposes for whomever visited said location, be it Earth, a gas giant, or some chunk of rock floating in an asteroid belt. She checked the degrees of the coordinates, accurate down to the degree, hour, minute, and second, pinpointing the location down to the nearest meter upon the planet. Revan itself was a toxic world made of methane and ammonia, a pea soup atmosphere that was both caustic and lethal to anything not wearing a sealed atmospheric suit. Add in its greater-than-Earth air pressure and gravity, and it was no real wonder why the planet that was forty percent Earth's size yet three times its pressure and almost double its gravity wasn't exploited yet. Systems Alliance Planetary Mineral and Geological Survey records showed that the planet was mostly made of basalt rock, as well as evidence of geological activity; some evidence of earthquakes and volcanoes were noted, mostly along the equator. There were no known sources of any kind of water of any form or composition, as well as a distinct lack of any kind of life down to the bacterial level. Essentially, it was a dead world that would continue to be a dead world with little in the way of evolution's help in creating something spectacular upon the planet.

That didn't make it lifeless, though.

Three weeks. Three weeks since Collins had been sent to the colony of Therum, to the Office of the Alliance Frontier Marshals stationed at the capital of Nova Yekaterinburg. The colony itself was Tier I Colony, meaning little in the way of Alliance assistance or money was put into the colony, mostly meaning that the colonists and settlers had to fend for themselves without the means of Alliance Military Patrols guarding its space or the Alliance Colonial Affairs dropping money on it for GTS batteries. With a population of seventy-one thousand, it was hardly a hub. It was, however, the largest port not only for the Knossos System, but for the entire Artemis Tau Cluster as well. Anyone coming through the relay and needed Heavy Helium fuel or an Eezo static charge dump would have to come to Nova Yekaterinburg. Anyone wishing to visit the other seven nearby systems within range of normal-FTL would have to resupply before heading out... as well as when they headed back in. The commerce of travel helped supplement what the mines on Therum brought in, as well as the occasional University-funded Protheantologist research team looking to exploit any ruins or finds in the Cluster.

The Office was staffed with exactly eleven Deputies and one Marshal for the entirety of the Cluster.

The Alliance Frontier Marshals was the extrasolar law enforcement branch of the Systems Alliance and any other human-owned colony or outpost out in the black. While there might be a Colonial Police Department or Sherriff's Office, it was the Marshals that were ultimately responsible for the law to be upheld, especially in locations that _didn't_ have any kind of law enforcement agency purview. More often than not, it involved dealing with smugglers, pirates, traffickers, and the Alliance Most Wanted list. Like the American Wild West of old, the Frontier Marshals were the law when there was none to be had.

This was why Collins was visiting Revan.

Upon starting her duties and responsibilities at the Marshal's Office in Nova Yekaterinburg, Deputy Collins had gained herself three duties; to monitor any and all traffic coming in and out of the Knossos System via FTL, monitoring which ships were going through Customs and their tonnage, and what they were declaring and how much. It was grunt work for the lowest Deputy in the totem pole and Collins knew it. Hell, she had to start somewhere.

And she started finding inaccuracies.

Deputy Collins was a recent graduate of the University of Shanxi (New Beijing), having gotten a degree in Criminal Justice. She had tested well and done well in school, graduating with honors and making the Dean's List for all fourteen semesters. Now with a Bachelor's Degree, she had applied for several law enforcement-related jobs and positions throughout Alliance Space, as well as the Citadel and private security firms. Sadly, most weren't interested in a nineteen year old woman with any practical experience, and it had taken almost six months of forms and tests before she had even been accepted by the Alliance Frontier Marshals. And for her first posting, she got a backwater assignment in a backwater planet in the backwater portion of Alliance Space.

Still, the Deputy took it seriously.

The inaccuracies that she found were consistent, mostly dealing with ship weight, though there were a few others. Ships, despite using Element Zero to drop their mass to affect travel into superluminal speeds, still had a tonnage berth, as well as a tare weight. Whenever a ship went through a Relay, such information was tagged with each Jump. Whenever a ship left or entered, a complicated code denoting the size, weight, and mass of the vessel was imputed. For a backwater system, finding a ship through such codes wasn't as hard. What Collins had focused on was a _Kolwoon_ -Class Transportation Vessel, generally built by the Hyundai Mipo Dockyard Company. With an easy look upon the ExtraNet, Collins had gotten the empty tare weight of a standard _Kolwoon_ , and its common manifest weights. What had piqued her interest was that while the vessel was indeed being subjected to Customs, the materials being declared and the weight displayed didn't match what was being logged through the Relay from its Jump out-of-system. The materials being declared was unusual as well, considering the direction the _Kolwoon_ was traveling to was towards the Thermopile System. Iron and Nickel were fairly common minerals mined from asteroids and meteors, which had been declared through Customs. Yet... not one piece of mining equipment was declared; no extra drills, replacement parts, suits, 'bots... just Iron and Nickel.

That had her interest piqued.

 _"Marshal Weathers?" Deputy Samantha Collins had to fight butterflies in her stomach when she came calling to the lead Marshal of the Office of the Alliance Frontier Marshals on Therum, knocking on the doorframe for his office. Bartholomew Weathers was a crotchety gentlemen who was at least fair enough to hate everyone equally, regardless of gender or species, working for the Frontier Marshals since its inception in 2148. Nearly thirty years of service would have the man retiring soon, but everyone in the Therum Office just assumed that Weathers would probably work until his heart finally gave out and probably die at his desk in another thirty years or so. As far as impressions went, he was a no-bullshit straight shooter with a Wild West complex, wearing a Western hat and a Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver on his hip. Scuttlebutt said he was a quickdraw and a hell of a crackshot with that 696._

 _"Deputy." The man looked up from his terminal, doing whatever it was his daily routine consisted of. She hadn't been in the office long enough to know, but she imagined that most of it consisted of messages from the main office in Vancouver, and whatever coordination from the other various departments in the Systems Alliance and EarthGov. "Something came to your attention?" He had given her her duties that pretty much consisted of sweeping the other unpopulated systems for any kind of discrepancies and activities. He had told her himself it was a shit job, but that it was a good start and would give her time to learn how to track and locate such things in busier activities. He might have been an old school asshole, but he was honest and up-front about it, and was giving her a chance._

 _"Yes, Marshal." Collins handed him the datapad that she had downloaded the data from her search. "I think it's something, at least, and I wanted to see if I was onto something or just wishful thinking." She was too new at this just to jump up and down excited at the prospect of actually getting a hit. Instead, she was going to let someone with more training and experience give it the good ol' eyeball and let her know if she was onto something or not. At the least, it made her look like she was taking her job seriously, and perhaps she would learn something._

 _"Fair enough. Let me look." Weathers replied, holding out his hand to take the datapad, in which the Deputy handed it over. The Marshal began looking over the information for a few moments, scrolling down at the report whenever he reached the bottom, and began really reaching when he put his left hand on his chin and began to rub it. "I got to admit, Deputy, you look at ships in a different way than I would have. Tare weights and Relay logs of mass and charge buildups, as well as Customs declarations while looking at manifest records? I would have done fuel consumption and docking fees, but your method works... perhaps it might even be better." The Marshal scratched at his jowls. "Mass distribution can't be fucked with electronically, especially at a Relay Jump Point, while anyone can lie to a Customs Official. No one I know would go through that kind of tedious data work to get those numbers, matching them to company records. Find any possible owners? I notice that it isn't the same ship twice, but you've marked how they go the same direction. You note you think that it is the same vessel that's changing its registration."_

 _"Relays log mass, size, and dimensions, and each ship is given a unique code." Collins replied, knowing this might be one of several potential questions. "What I noticed was that the charge buildup and the fuel usage were all the same. A different Captain might not get to the same location twice, having to rely on buoys and sensors to find a location, as oppose to someone who knows where they are going and goes to a stellar polar plot. I think it's the same ship. I'm thinking smugglers, at the very least. It seems too much for an illegal mining operation."_

 _"You might be onto something here." The Marshal nodded, thumbing through more of the datapad. "I note that you've got a possible destination; the Thermopile System is within that fuel consumption range, and you even got a planet, this... Revan."_

 _"Yes, Marshal."_

 _"Well, why you jawjacking me when you should be hopping onto one of our birds and checking that shit out, Deputy?" That had Collins a little stunned. "That is your jurisdiction, and you action upon anything you might find. I'd rather you hunt something down and turn up empty-handed than letting some smuggler or trafficker running ops in my backyard. Take the_ Kortuga _and give this Revan the ol' set of peepers and see if anything's flying on a planet that shouldn't have anything on it. You find something, you call back and I'll get on the horn with Navy and we'll send in the troops."_

 _"Yes, Marshal." Samantha was surprised and elated. She was going out and doing the job she wanted to do!_

 _"And Samantha?" Weathers gave her a hard smile. "Good work. Kick some ass, but stay safe while doing so."_

Fifteen hours later, she was flying into the orbit of Revan.

Collins had done several particle analyses of the planet, as well as the space around it. There were emission discharge particles of FTL flight hanging in the magnetosphere, indicative of a FTL charge dump in the planet's atmo. A _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel was designed to dump a charge buildup on just about anything with a magnetosphere, but they weren't meant to be stealthy or infiltrating. While the transport and cargo vessel was a favorite for pirates and smugglers for its long range and cargo space, they were built for merchant craft, not illegal activities. Particle traces showed the point-of-entry to be somewhere in the northern hemisphere, in the western quadrant. Unfortunately, the planet's soupy atmosphere and high ionization meant that any space-to-surface scans were either going to come up with a tone of false positives unless she used a high-density laser and radio survey scanner, which would be easily detected with anyone with a communication relay or a network connection, causing interference. She didn't want to alert whoever was down on the planet that they were being surveyed. She did, however, scan the particle traces and how they came into the planet; what angle and vector. Would the potential pirates or smugglers just re-enter into Revan on the most direct path towards their base? Considering the consistency of the planet, a perfect haven for hiding? Collins thought it most likely. Inputting the degree and vector of the re-entry path based upon the particle emissions, the Deputy plotted a possible landing spot upon the planet. Trajectory inputted, she inputted her own coordinates, landing a kilometer south of the possible landing spot.

She would use their own tactics against them.

The _Krotuga_ began to sink into Revan, disappearing into its soupy atmosphere as it re-entered the planet, its occupant unaware that another ship was entering the planet silently behind it.

* * *

The UT-32 _Kortuga_ landed in the slightly crushing grips of Revan, the density of the atmosphere almost as bad as the opaquity, the air thick and clogged enough that Deputy Samantha Collins could only see perhaps twenty or so meters around her when she exited the craft. She was suited up in Devlon Industries' Light Explorer Armor, consisting of a pressure suit with armored kinetic-dampening plates over the chest, shoulders, arms, back, thighs, and shins, giving protection and ease of movement. Her helmet was sealed against the planet's methane-ammonia atmosphere, lethal even to Volus and Krogan supposedly, but the triple pressure and double gravity was easily felt, Collins feeling heavy and as if the suit were too tight on her. Still, the Explorer line of armor was still some of the best for such work as this; military armor didn't adjust for such toxic conditions and changes in pressure and gravity, while the Explorer had servos installed along the legs and spine for relief, while the pressure suit hardened to counter the effects of the increased air pressure. She would still suffer through it, but it was better than wearing the standard Aldrin Labs' line of Onyx Armor, which would have done nothing for her. Not that 42 ft/lbs of air pressure was lethal to a human being, but it certainly wasn't comfortable. It was like trying to walk underwater while feeling twice as heavy. Collins had to remind herself that such an environment would have her getting more tired quicker than usual.

She stepped out into the toxic world with her limited field of view, checking her Omnitool to find the waypoint she had inputted to mark where she needed to go and what direction to take in the opaque landscape of Revan.

Checking her Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistol, a standard firearm for Marshal Deputies, she holstered it on her left thigh against the magnetic holster before pulling the Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle from its place in the weapons rack on the Utility Transport, extending it into operations mode before she pressed it against her chest plate, keeping it close to her for quick acquisition fire while also keeping it out of the way enough to use her hands if needed. The last thing she grabbed was a magnetic sheath and a SAMC-issue KABAR knife, attaching it horizontally at the small of her back, just above her hips. She waited for the UT-32 to equalize with the environment before the doors opened upon the craft for her to disembark, and Collins found herself on a truly alien planet. A few feet away from the _Kortuga_ had her stopping as Sam looked around, finding the ground to be rocky but manageable, without any kind of physical descriptors of note. No plant life, no rock formations, not even wadis or crags. The topographical scan of the planet by the Systems Alliance Planetary Mineral and Geological Survey probe showed that the mountains were mostly towards the equator, while where she was at were mostly low hills created by ancient magma flows kept flattened by gravity and pressure. An otherwise unremarkable planet that one could see very little of due to the pea soup atmosphere.

Collins checked her Omnitool's navigation program, found her heading electronically, and began walking.

Travelling in a high pressure, high gravity, Deputy Collins discovered, was taxing. Before? A kilometer walk wouldn't even have her breaking out in a sweat on a planet such as Shanxi or Earth. On Revan, on the other hand, it was like walking two kilometers through soup. The air pressure was a worse toll than the gravity, not only increasing her weight twice over, but the resistance of walking three times over as well. Add those together, and the Deputy realized that it was more akin to walking six kilometers than one. Still not an excitable feat, but she felt the exertion and force required adding up. It was like trying to run through sand while carrying a backpack and pushing through something at the same time, and she was grateful that the Explorer Armor came with a biothermal regulator, the internal temperature meant to stay consistently at a human-comfortable temperature to help alleviate sweating and discomfort. It would have been impossible for her to wipe the sweat off her brow, though thankfully the helmet came with a moisture-wicking headwrap that would prevent sweat getting into her eyes and ruining her vision. She pushed on, following the arrow's direction on her Omnitool as she worked her way over Revan's surface to reach what she believed to be the projected landing spot of her tagged vessel. The bad part was that if she were wrong, it would be next to impossible for her to search due to the atmosphere; a twenty square meter search radius was pathetic, and she could easily get lost or be walking in circles. If the landing site ended up being a bust, she would have to come up with another method.

About halfway through her walk, she felt an uneasy feeling creep up on her, as if she were being watched.

Collins stopped in her tracks, and took a slow spin. If she were hunting pirates or smugglers (and who was to say they were slavers, insurrectionalists, or something else), it was probably likely that they had some sort of defenses. She wasn't here to arrest them; this was merely a reconnaissance mission to see if her intel was correct. As Marshal Weathers had told her, she was to call if she found something of note. She wasn't about to assault some possible pre-fab compound smuggler's den with her '69 Lawbringer like a Wild West Marshal of old. Hell, those guys usually rounded up posse's for that purpose. If she found the landing site or even a compound, she'd scuttle back to the shuttle and get on the horn. Marshal Weathers wasn't afraid to call for some Systems Alliance Navy back-up, getting some Marines involved.

But until then, she'd have to be smart if she wanted to live long enough to do so, and that uneasy feeling had her wary.

The scan had given her no clue as to where the feeling was coming from, but Collins could still feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She was too new to ignore the feeling, and she didn't feel like dying on some toxic shithole alone. She raised her Lawbringer up to her shoulder, letting the barrel sweep where she was looking. She couldn't see anything save rocky ground and thick pea soup fog. Fuck, wasn't there anything in the galaxy that would let her see through this shit?

Her Omnitool pinged with a message received.

The soft chimed surprised her... hell, it kind of scared the shit out of her. She wasn't near any ExtraNet Nodes, and she doubted the planet had any satellite connection feeds. There was one on the _Kortuga_ , but it didn't have any li-fi capabilities for connections outside of the craft, just the terminal on it. If she had received a message, then it was shortwave, meaning short range, probably within a quarter klick.

Someone knew she was here, and fucking _texted_ her.

Raising her left arm, Collins twitched her arm in a particular fashion that would activate her Omnitool, bringing up the holographic projection of the Haptic on-board input device. With it, it brought up the small viewing screen that indicated that she indeed have a message. Still holding her Lawbringer at the ready, she used her left hand to scroll down to the message by crooking her forefinger down once, and then miming pressing a button to access it, grateful that she could use her Omnitool with her left hand as well as her right, with admittedly limited functionality. The message popped up on the screen.

 _Frontier Marshal,_ it read;

 _Don't panic, but I'm right behind you. It seems we might be hunting down the same people. Care to join up?_

 _CNTRN Kryik_

That had Sam pause.

 _Did a Turian just text me?_ CNTRN was the short form of Centurion, which was the equivalent of a Lieutenant Commander, Commander, Major, or Lieutenant Colonel in the Navy or Marines, respectively. Collins might have been born right before the First Contact War, but she had definitely grown up hearing horror stories about the Hierarchy Military and what they did to her home planet of Shanxi. The thought of a Turian being behind her was a frightening proposition. Yet... he had informed her. He didn't shoot her in the back, and he had offered to join up. That... was a little less disconcerting. Just a little. She slapped the Lawbringer on her chest, held into place by the magnetic lock on her chest piece, and typed a quick reply.

 _Centurion Kryik,_

 _Deal. Please no funny business, I'm edgy in this toxic soup world as is._

 _Deputy Collins_

Sam sent the reply and grabbed her Lawbringer off of her chest, holding it against herself as most in the military did anyhow as she waited a few moments. She wasn't sure if this was such a good idea or not, but... but a Centurion in the Hierarchy was generally a tough motherfucker with about a decade or so worth's of experience. If he were hunting the people she had located using numbers, a joint operation wasn't exactly a bad thing. Relations between humans and Turians were generally ugly at best, neither race seemingly willing to work with one another. Yet this Turian Centurion knew her to be an Alliance Frontier Marshal, identified himself properly, and had asked to work together. Well, there had to be a first time for everything, right?

A few moments later, a silhouette appeared in the fog as it walked out of the pea soup, and Collins saw her very first Turian.

The Turian was a tall one, easily over two meters tall, with thick, black, sleek-looking armor highlighted in red along the undersuit and undersides. He lopped forward easily enough, the race being known for its ground speed, easily capable of running upwards of fifty kilometers an hour at a sprint. On him was a wide variety of weapons, festooned with them, actually. Cradled in his talons was what looked to be a Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle, a heavy assault rifle with a punishing rate-of-fire and kinetic impact. Locked to one hip was a shotgun of some manufacture that she didn't recognize, while the other hip contained a smaller weapon with a thick barrel that took her a second to recognize as a grenade launcher of some sort. On the back of his armor, where his plated back curved away from his cowl was a heavy weapon of some kind, large and menacing. She recognized it as well; it was an Omega State Arms AMR-B21 Mulcher anti-personnel heavy machine gun. The Turian was carrying a fucking _lightning gun_ on his back! A very illegal one at that, banned from both Alliance and Council Space! Collins did not like where this was going; practically every weapon on him spoke of death and destruction, and not on a self-defense level.

She had a feeling this wasn't some standard Centurion with the normal run-of-the-mill Hierarchy forces.

 _"Deputy Collins?"_ The helmeted head asked, the darkened visor looking at her as his flanged voice came out of his suit's vox speaker, the volume turned down to keep the conversation between themselves. Smart.

"Centurion Kryik." She nodded her head in acknowledgement, trying not to compare her weaponry to his own. She had two weapons to his four. Her Lawbringer was meant mostly for law enforcement and colonial defense purposes, a single-shot weapon that actually fired a phasic round that was meant to scramble electronics in a suit, locking down a perpetrator while hitting them with a non-lethal round that struck with enough force to put a human on his back. The weapon could be reconfigured for lethal munitions, but it was substandard compared to most assault weapons, as it was designed to incapacitate, not kill. The Glock was her actual lethal weapon, but it was a short-range machine pistol meant for room clearing and standard enforcement procedures. If this Turian was hunting the same people she had stumbled upon, had an idea of their capabilities, and had prepared for them, then she was sorely outmatched. Chirst, even his armor looked tough enough to take on any number of threats, while hers was designed mostly for protection against small arms and a variety of environments! "So... I take it you're not normal Hierarchy?"

 _"No."_ Came the flanged reply, the fringed helmet shaking once. _"Special Forces Operative."_ Well, that explained the armor and the weaponry. Like most humans, Collins knew _of_ the various SF units that the Turian Hierarchy employed, just like the Turians had undoubtedly heard of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps Force Recon, Systems Alliance Navy SEALs, and the Special Operations Green Berets, commonly known as the N's. She only knew of four for sure; the biokinetically-capable Hierarchy Cabal, the Front Line, the Final Line... and the Blackwatch. The Cabalists were the Turian's answer to Biotics, creating platoons of Biokinetically-capable Turians whose job was to completely overpower and annihilate anything that might be too tough for the normal Turian Soldier. There were the Front Line Platoons, whose job it was to jump in before a pacification action with the normal troops to soften any kind of military or defensive capabilities that might stop a mobilization. There was the Final Line Soldiers, whose job it was to protect the flanks and retreats of normal forces, who would not give up an inch to the enemy, often dying to the man killing everything in front of them to protect the Hierarchy Army's back. And then there was the Blackwatch; insertion-style soldiers that slipped in with small teams and waged all kinds of havoc. Like the SEALs or the N's, they were the counter-terrorists and unconventional warriors of the Hierarchy. Considering the whole race was militant, which probably made them the best, toughest soldiers in the galaxy. It was said that one never saw a Blackwatch member... just the final results of his visit.

Collins had a _very_ nasty suspicion which one Centurion Kryik belonged to.

"Well, in the spirit of cooperation..." Collins began, looking at the heavily armed-and-armored Turian, "care to take the lead? I'm actually just a rookie cop. First bust."

 _"We all had to start somewhere."_ The Turian replied, his tone a little amused as he chuckled. _"Takes guts to admit that, but you also found yourself here, so you certainly didn't drop onto this place by accident."_

"According to the vector logs left by the particle admissions whenever the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel entered atmo," the Deputy began, "I figured the landing zone to be just a bit ahead if they flew in a straight line. With this kind of atmo as well as no real presence on either the planet or the system, I figured they'd be cocky enough to think they'd never get caught. I'm betting on stupidity."

 _"A good assumption, and I agree."_ The Special Forces Operative nodded. _"Most criminals aren't that bright, and you obviously tracked them here despite whatever efforts they made to conceal their existence. Stupidity can be a powerful ally. Send me the location, and I'll take point."_ Collins nodded as she opened up her Omnitool and sent the Centurion the coordinates to his Omnitool. She was a little surprised to see that when he brought it up, his Omnitool was red as oppose to the standard orange color. That was odd, and she wondered if there was any significance to it. The Turian moved forward, the Vapor Assault Rifle in his talons and pressed against his armored shoulder as he began stalking forward. Collins moved behind him, keeping a few meters or so back from him in case they were engaged, they both wouldn't be shot at at the same time, as was pretty standard for the SAMC. Her Lawbringer was up and ready against her own shoulder as she followed Kryik, able to see his form clearly despite the density of the atmosphere due to their close distance. She had a clear view of the weapon on his back, and it indeed was a Mulcher. Perhaps Hierarchy SF was allowed such weapons. She certainly wasn't going to try and detain a Blackwatch member on a weapons charge.

After a minute or so of walking, there was a looming silhouette appearing before them through the greenish fog.

It was a _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel.

* * *

Author's Notes: Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster - The Artemis Tau Cluster all have Greek origin systems (Knossos, Macedon, Athens, and Sparta are actually Greek locations) so the Thermopile System, named after a Greek Battle named after the location. Revan, on the other hand, is named after another BioWare game; Knights of the Old Republic's protagonist/antagonist player character.

Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer- This... is actually a real weapon, albeit a 'NERF' gun. From the Badlands line of foam weaponry, I turned Nerf into a gun company and one of its weapons into a MEU weapon. You'll probably be seeing more of this.

Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistol - Most of us have seen this in movies and games, as this is a real life weapon. Glock Safe Arms (the company) invented what we know just commonly call 'the Glock' back in the 80's out of polymers and with a different design, creating this lightweight and popular firearm. The Models all coordinate with barrel lengths and calibers (17 is a 4" 9mm, 19 is 4.5" 9mm) and go from 9 mm to .45 cal. The Model 18C is, in fact, the only automatic pistol that Glock Safe Arms makes, available only for military and Austrian Law Enforcement purposes. It is essentially just the same as a Model 18, save that it has an open port on the top of the slide and it fires full auto.

Omega State Arms AMR-B21 Mulcher - Omega State Arms is not a MEU weapons company, but one of my own devising. The Mulcher, on the other hand, is property of Neil Bloomkamf, and we've seen it before in his movie _District 9_. Specifically, the Mulcher was the lightning gun that Wikus used that fired a proton stream that superheated and destabilized molecular bonds, causing horrible burns, dismemberment, and most likely, a very gory end.

Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle - In ME1, there were a bunch of weapons and weapons manufactures, but surprisingly, for a militant race, there didn't seem to be too many Turian weapons companies. Considering how many there are for humans (in real life) you'd think guns and gun companies would be numbering in the thousands, if not more. So Cipritine Armory is one of many Turian weapons manufacturers, and the Vapor is just one of many.


	2. Revan, II

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare_

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshall Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins stood upon the toxic surface of Revan, looking up at the outline of what appeared to be the hull of a _Kolwoon_ -Class Vessel, resting on its landing gears on the surface of the planet. The seventy-five meter long ship had landed upon the planet, its four eternal cargo containers each still connected on the ship, the thirty meter containers meant to be connected and removed for quick turn-arounds where its cargo could be loaded or unloaded at leisure while the ship itself could be off to its next destination with more cargo. The _Kolwoon_ -Class was created with the transportation of cargo in mind, and it was obvious that a lot of thought had been put into the most efficient way to handle such demand. The vessel itself wasn't much; a bridge with a small crew compartment, an elongated corridor down the middle of the vessel that led to the engine room, and that was it. It was cost-efficiency and transportation-efficiency rolled into one.

No wonder the _Kolwoon_ made for a great smugglers' craft.

Collins looked up and down the vessel as best she could, the pea soup fog of the atmosphere actually hiding the bridge and the engine compartment for the vessel due to its opaquity, but she could easily see the belly of the craft, as well as two of the cargo containers on the port side. Well, at least her guess had been right; she had found the landing site for the ship. Half of the investigation was complete.

Now it was time to find out why these 'merchants' were landing on an unpopulated planet with no obvious ports, and what was being transferred.

 _"Either the cargo hasn't been exchanged,"_ began Centurion Kryik, the Turian Special Forces Operative that stood just to her left, hoisting a Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle in his talons, _"or new cargo has been uploaded and their awaiting take-off."_

"Last In-Relay Jump was three days ago." Collins informed her new Turian companion, remembering the logs she had gotten from the relay identifying the vessel's energy signature. "A _Kolwoon_ can make the trip here in just over a day. So my guess is whatever needed to be off-loaded has been off-loaded. We're here just in time to see what they're transporting. Or as we humans like to say; we're going to catch them red-handed."

 _"I'm going to have to remember that one."_ The Turian replied, his flanged voice amused. _"Still, this is just the vehicle in question. Where is the cargo going to and coming from is a better question to ask. Stopping the vessel won't stop the operation."_

"True." The Deputy replied, mulling it over. "It'd have to be close by; wouldn't make sense to land too far out from their base of operations, especially in these depths and this shitty atmosphere." She looked at how the vessel was landed, which direction it was facing. "Well, the way I see it, the vessel probably lands in relation to their base. So it's either to the fore or aft of the craft, or to the port or starboard of it. Since the four containers are on each side of the vessel, taking one off means that one would have to go all the way around it to deposit it off if the base were to one of the sides, which just sounds like a pain in the ass thing to do. No, these guys would be about efficiency or laziness, and the door is going to be to the front or the back of the craft."

 _"A likely conclusion, and I agree."_ The Turian replied, looking at the vessel itself. _"It's easy to fly 'into' a landing pad, with a base up front. But a pass over and landing is just as likely, landing with the engines towards the base."_

"I'm thinking front." Collins replied. "If I wanted to deal with this environment as little as possible, I wouldn't want to deal with engine cool-off and whatever effects the atmo would react to with the burning of Heavy Helium or Hydrogen Slush. Landing forwards makes the most amount of sense to get to work as soon as possible, and get done as soon as possible. It's what a pirate or a smuggler would want; to hide."

 _"Agreed."_ The Special Forces Operative nodded his fringed head once, the helmet bobbing quickly. _"Best way to search would be under the craft itself to better disguise our approach, as well as avoiding any motion detecting equipment and targeting software. No one wants to shoot up their only vessel, after all."_

"Do we... search the vessel first?" Sam asked the Turian, relying on the Centurion's experience. She was, essentially, just a rookie cop. Despite Kryik's different species, government citizenship, and military standing, he had training and experience on his side. He would see a trap she might not know enough to recognize. Plus, he was better armed and better armored. She wouldn't be ashamed at all to use the Turian as a human shield, so to speak. The Turian's helmeted head turned towards her, the darkened visor looking at her. "Cargo is in there, that's evidence. No idea what might be in there, but at the first sight of authorities, someone might just try to scuttle the ship and its cargo to destroy the evidence, or even try to lift-off to deny us the chance to discover what they are transporting. Besides, we could possibly hi-jack it and use it as leverage if necessary."

 _"Interesting."_ The Turian mused, obviously thinking it over. _"Not my standard procedure, but clearing out a_ Kolwoon _isn't difficult. All one needs to do is clear out the bridge and crew compartment, which is easily done with two people. We can lockdown the ship from there, denying any attempt to take-off or dispose of the cargo. We'll do that. It'll give us an idea of what might be at the operating base, and what we could be expecting; smugglers, pirates, mercs... whomever."_

"There should be a secondary access hatch in the bottom of the ship..."

 _"It's called the bilge."_ The Turian informed her dryly.

"'Bilge'," Collin corrected herself, "which is a maintenance hatch for in-transit work and EVA access. We should be able to fit through there, and it should be able to bypass any defenses the main airlock has."

 _"Not to mention we won't be locked inside the airlock, overriding any kind of access we might try if we go in through the front door. I like it."_ The Turian replied, nodding his head and hefting his Vapor. _"You know where it's located?"_

"I've seen it on ship schematics when I was looking up the ship's mass and tare weight compliments." Collins admitted sheepishly, feeling like a rookie.

 _"Impressive. I've dealt with these vessels for a few years now, and I never knew of an underside maintenance hatch. Never thought to look it up, either."_ The Special Forces Operative admitted easily enough. _"Always just cut my way through the hull, but that brings its own risks and threats. I think your way will be the easier entrance, not to mention the more clever one, at that."_ The Deputy had to keep silent at that, feeling a blush creeping to her cheeks. Getting a compliment from a Turian Special Forces Warrior was... well, it was a pretty big deal. This was a soldier who had probably been fighting piracy and the likes for nearly as long as she had been alive, and she was finding ways to help combat it that even he hadn't thought about. The compliment was an honest one, and well-deserved. She was just glad for the toxic environment, so that the helmet didn't let the blush or embarrassment show. _"Take the lead, Deputy."_

"Roger." The human moved towards the underbelly of the craft, where it rested perhaps a meter and a half above the surface of the planet. For herself, it forced Collins to walk at a bit of a crouch, stooping over slightly while bending her knees to fit underneath the ship. She saw what Kryik meant about masking their approach; someone would have to literally stoop down to look under the vessel to see them, made that much more difficult with Revan's atmosphere. They were perhaps halfway towards the forward set of cargo containers, perhaps forty meters from the bridge itself as she stoop-walked towards where the maintenance hatch was when she stopped to turn and see how the Centurion was doing. To her dismay, she saw that the taller Turian was practically squat-walking underneath the ship, almost forced to walk on his knees as he, too, was bent over. She felt sorry for him, it looked uncomfortable as hell. "Are... you going to be okay that way?" Collins asked, not wishing to offend her companion, but the way he was forced to move under the vessel was undoubtedly taxing in the environment they were in. She knew it was taxing her, and she had it easier.

 _"It's not far."_ The Turian replied, obviously intending to tough out any of the soreness's and aches he would receive for his efforts. Sam figured it must be a universal male trait throughout the galaxy, to do something stupid and ignored how bad it might hurt all for the sakes of macho bravado. That thought had her sniggering. _"What?"_

"I guess men are all the same, regardless of species." Collins shared, the helmet hiding her smile as she turned to move forward, shaking her head. The Special Forces Operative merely snorted at that as he continued to half-crawl under the _Kolwoon_ , his Vapor Assault Rifle held in one hand while the other was used to help him move forward by planting itself on the ground to give himself a brace while walking. Were Turians even designed to walk that way? Still, as punishing as it might be, it was certainly better than being discovered and shot at. As a Special Forces Warrior, Centurion Kryik undoubtedly knew that, and accepted whatever aches and pains he would get travelling in such an uncomfortable position, thinking them better than potential gunshot wounds in a toxic environment. "A few more meters, Kryik. I'll have to hunt for the actual access point, but it is just forward of the ship's central corridor."

 _"Understood."_ The Turian replied behind her as she moved to where the sixty meter corridor connected with the bridge and crew compartment of the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel. The standard transport allowed for a crew of eight; a Captain, a pilot, a navigator, a communications officer, and four maintenance personnel whose responsibility was the upkeep of the ship and the engine room. Strangely enough, there had been two crew compartments designed for the _Kolwoon_ ; one for the bridge personnel, and one for the maintenance personnel in the engine compartment. Thankfully, that meant a potential of just four crewmembers to deal with on the ship once they boarded it. A simple lever pull would have the central corridor access closed on the ship, eliminating any form of reinforcements, or at least delaying them. Not only that, but once they gained access to the bridge, they could seal the airlock from intruders. Technically, they would be completely isolated and without a means to be assaulted, especially if none of the smugglers knew of the maintenance hatch on the _bilge_ of the vessel. The maintenance personnel might, but they would be stuck in the engine compartment with no way off.

"Here it is." Collins found it after less than a moment searching, finding a one meter by one meter square piece of fifty millimeter forge-hardened EH grade stellar stainless steel. There was a release lever marked in red on the hatch, as well as helpful instructions as to which direction to turn it in to release said hatch, and the warning that the other side would not be pressurized. The Deputy grabbed the handle and gave it a hearty yank, rotating the red lever counterclockwise ninety degrees. The hatch dropped open and Sam found herself looking up into a shaft with a ladder that went up several meters, ending with another hatch at top, with a blue nimbus covering the opening; an atmospheric barrier.

 _"Deputy, I'm not going to be able to fit in that access."_

Collins stopped before she started to ascend the ladder, looking to her Turian companion, and began looking at his actual dimensions. Yes, the Turian was a good deal taller than her, which wouldn't matter that much. But he was also a good deal bulkier, too; She herself measured around ninety-one centimeters at the chest, about a hundred in the bust, and was around sixty-one centimeters wide in the shoulders, making her rather lithe and slim for most human women. The Centurion, on the other hand, was a model of Turian lethality, standing at two hundred and twenty centimeters, and measuring over at a hundred and fifty centimeters at the meatiest point of his cowl. Plus, she took one look at how his legs bent at the knees and how they were configured, having reverse flexing knees and spurs tapering at the back of the calves. She briefly wondered how he climbed ladders.

"Actually..." Collins looked at the access, measuring it with her hands, and then looking at the Turian in question. "Yes, you can. It'll be a tight fit, and... And I think you're going to have to lose some of your weapons. The Vapor and the Mulcher both, I'm pretty sure about."

 _"That's not going to happen."_ The Centurion growled, obviously not relishing the thought.

"I'll go first, clear the immediate area, and then you hand them to me while you climb aboard." Collins reasoned out, trying to compromise. The _Kolwoon_ might not be designed to have a large crew, but who was to say it hadn't been reconfigured into a mobile barracks? The Alliance Colonial Affairs Bureau sent ships that were meant to be disassembled into a protocolony, after all. "You get on, and I'll hand them back. Believe me, I have no interest in pissing off a Blackwatch Commando." That had the Turian looking at her with his darkened visor for a long moment.

 _"We'll do it your way."_ The Centurion finally replied with a huff, his flanged voice indicating he wasn't exactly happy with this turn of events, but that he was going to go through with it anyhow. Collins nodded as she placed the Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle magnetically on her chest, set diagonally so it wouldn't be in the way of her arms or legs, especially climbing. She drew her Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistol in her right hand as she began to ascend the ladder, making her way to the secondary hatch at the top of the ladder, frowning at the thought that she was going to have to access the hatch with one hand while trying to hold a pistol at the same time. Thankfully, the maintenance shaft was not much bigger than she was, so Collins pressed her back against the shaft wall, pressing her feet against the rungs of the ladder to keep herself stabilized while grabbing the hatch handle with her left hand while holding the Glock in her right. She unlocked the hatch, lifting it up and releasing it with her hand as she crept up the ladder, clearing the immediate threat zone of the hatch itself before sticking her head and her Glock out of the hatch to clear the immediate area. She found herself in the main corridor of the ship, near the bulkhead door that led towards the cargo containers and engine compartment, and she trained her Glock towards the direction that led towards the bridge and the crew compartments. The corridor was thankfully empty.

"Clear." Collins said down the shaft, informing her companion as she slid out the shaft and laid in the corridor on her armor's belly, with the hatch right in front of her. Keeping her Glock out and aiming towards where an assailant was likely to appear, she reached down with her left arm to accept one of Centurion Kryik's weapons, one of the ones she identified that would probably have to come through without him. The first to come up was the Omega State Arms AMR-B21 Mulcher, the weapon both heavy and bulky as she did her best to pull it out of the hatch without banging it around or accidentally activating it. She had to settle for pulling it out halfway through the hatch and then rolling to the right to pull it all the way through without letting go of her Glock, rolling onto her back with the heavy weapon laying on her chest. She set it to the side and rolled back and stuck her arm through once more, this time accepting the Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle, which she was able to pull out fully, setting it in front of her. Collins peered down for a moment to see the Centurion wedging himself into the maintenance shaft, the Blackwatch Commando barely able to fit through the access due to his bulk and armor, but was able to manage. He took longer than she did as he had to press himself in a way that was probably uncomfortable to do so, but going at a speed that would keep any potential hostiles from hearing him banging about in the shaft, going for stealth instead of speed.

The Deputy continued covering the corridor as he began to extract himself through the second hatch and onto the ship, rolling to one side and kneeling up to a crouched position, taking a knee and covering the corridor with her Machine Pistol as the Turian slipped out of the hatch, closing it as quietly as he could before collecting both of his weapons and setting them back in their respective places. Instead of the Vapor, he pulled out the shotgun that had been attached to his hip, the one she hadn't recognized. It was Turian in style, meant for a being with a set of three-taloned hands, so she assumed it was a shotgun of Turian manufacture, or at least designed for Turians. Considering the Centurion was festooned with a powerful Vapor Assault Rifle and the highly-illegal Mulcher, Sam figured it to be of the same equivalency in power and lethality. Honestly, she didn't want to know.

 _"Set and ready."_ The Turian spoke quietly, the vox on his helmet set at whisper level. _"Cover the corridor while I disable access at the bulkhead door."_

"Understood." Sam continued covering the ten meter corridor with her Glock, seeing the door that led to the bridge, the two doors that led to the side crew compartments, and the door to the left that led to the airlock. All the doors were closed, but she had no idea if they would open with proximity or if there was a switch or toggle to activate. All she knew is that a door could open and someone could pop out at any moment. The Deputy aimed her Machine Pistol down the corridor as the Centurion turned to tap on the bulkhead interface, possibly programming it or setting its emergency lockdown procedure to limit the access for anyone that might come from the cargo containers or the engine compartment. It took the Centurion only a few moments to complete the task, turning about and aiming his shotgun down the corridor as she was with her Model 18C. His helmet turned to her for a moment and nodded once before he began stalking the left side of the corridor, while she took to the right, two steps behind. She had practiced this in college and again in Marshall's Academy, but now it wasn't a simulation or a test. Now it was real life. Collins was grateful that her suit came with the thermoregulator in her suit to keep her comfortable; otherwise she'd be sweating bullets now.

Three weeks into the job, and she was finding herself clearing a ship alongside a Turian Commando.

Together, they stalked towards the bow of the ship, reaching the doors that led to the small crew compartments, each with two beds each meant for the bridge personnel. Kryik paused before the doors, Collins halting as well as he looked at her. He pointed at himself, and then at both doors. Then he pointed at her, then pointed to a spot in the corridor just ahead of the compartments, and then pointed at his eyes and then at the bridge. The Deputy quickly got what he meant; he was going to clear the rooms, a task he was well-suited for, while she covered the part of the ship that was likely to have threats while he did so. She nodded her understanding and acceptance of the orders as she brushed ahead a few meters, stationing herself a meter or so part the crew compartment as she took a knee and trained her Glock ahead, where the airlock door and the bridge door were located. She kept her eyes ahead as she heard the Turian moving silently behind her, the sound of his armored feet soft enough for stealth as he opened one of the doors behind her to clear it. A moment or so later, she heard the other door opening. She forced herself not to look back, to see the Special Forces Warrior operate, to check on him. She doubted he needed her help, and he wanted her to cover the area that hadn't been cleared yet. He trusted her with her task, and she needed to trust him with his. No doubt another Blackwatch member could do something like this with ease, but it really wasn't different for cops, either. Working in tandem with a partner or a team was fairly common for law enforcement, though Collins had yet to do so, or even really practice it much.

God, she hoped she didn't fuck this up in front of a Turian Commando.

 _"Rooms cleared and secured."_ The Centurion whispered through his vox, moving up to her side to the right side of the corridor. _"Moving ahead."_ The Deputy nodded as she stood up and followed the Turian's lead, stalking towards the bridge compartment. The Special Forces Warrior had his weapon trained towards the airlock door that was across from the corridor, getting a better field of fire that she herself as she kept her Glock aimed at the Bridge bulkhead door, an off-white door made of a high-tensile opaque polymer. Kryik edged forward, keeping his shotgun trained on the airlock door as Collins stayed put, letting the Turian clear the airlock, the door closed but a viewport giving them the ability to see inside the contained room without having to enter it and possibly alerting anyone of their presence. It was pretty standard for ship VI's to announce whenever an airlock was opened or the decon cycle was activated, so clearing it through the means of the viewport was the smarter option that Sam quickly understood as she kept her Machine Pistol trained at the Bridge door. Once Kryik was satisfied that the Airlock was cleared, his shotgun snapped towards the last remaining access in the ship, aiming at the Bridge as the Deputy moved forward. The Special Forces Warrior pressed himself against the wall by the door, and Collins took position on the opposite side. She looked to the Turian's darkened visor, seeing him point to himself, then towards the door, and then her, and she understood. He was going in first, and she right behind him. She nodded in agreement as she shifted her stance, readying herself to burst through after the Turian as she saw the bulkhead door toggle on her side. She readied a hand over it and looked at him, seeing him nodding once; he was ready.

She depressed the Haptic switch, opening the door, and both Turian and human moved forward one after the other.

The Bridge was empty of life.

"There's the Captain's Log." Alliance Frontier Marshall Deputy Samantha Collins pointed out the chair that occupied the one behind the Helm where the pilot sat, the other two chairs being that of the communications officer and the navigator. The Bridge itself was cramped, most of the space invested into the machinery and computerization needed to fly and maintain a vessel and its many systems and sub-systems. Clearing it had taken only a matter of seconds, and Centurion Kryik had closed the door to the bridge behind them, engaging a lockdown procedure upon the door to make it more difficult for anyone to force them out. Collins immediately went to the Captain's chair, knowing that most every system could be ran by the Captain, that the others were for tasks and duties in case he were incapacitated, asleep, or in the pilot's case, couldn't do himself. Sitting in the Captain's chair, she took off her helmet first, disengaging the internal air pressure to conserve her breathable air, though her suits supply and recycler would guarantee her no less than ten hours under normal conditions. It still didn't hurt to conserve where she could, not to mention she wasn't sure how long her air would last under _non-normal_ conditions. On a planet with three times the air pressure and twice the gravity, that was sure to be a shoe in towards that category. Sam placed the helmet down on the floor beside her as she began accessing the _Kolwoon_ -Class's main computer, lacking even an entry password or any other kind of biocryptic protocols. It made sense, she guessed, in case the Captain went down or there was a ship emergency that theoretically _anyone_ on the ship could be in control. For now, it worked in her favor. "Let's see what we can do and discover."

"Indeed." Collins looked over to see that her Turian companion had, too, dishelmeted, taking off his protective covering to expose his own head. She found herself staring at the Special Forces Warrior, seeing chocolate-brown plate and a long head-fringe tailing straight back from an otherwise normal Turian head, his face heavily decorated with white markings; colonial markings that Turians prided themselves with. She had to shake off her reverie, realizing that she had been working with the Turian for the better part of half-an-hour or so without knowing what he looked like. Had it really mattered? She got back to typing.

"Engaging ship safety lockdown procedures." Collins called out softly as she engaged the external locks on the ship, making it practically inaccessible from the outside. If one wanted in, they would have to cut their way in. "Engaging maintenance locks." There were two maintenance hatches to the ship; one to the section of the bridge, and one to the engine compartment. They had just used the fore maintenance hatch, and now she just denied anyone the possibility of returning the favor. "Engaging corridor lockdown procedures." Now if there was anyone in the engine compartment, they wouldn't be able to leave, effectively marooned in the compartment. "Disengaging external radio and feed communication protocols." Now no one would be able to radio for help, or use any kind of light-fidelity network to inform anyone else what was going on. "Ship's life support is in the green, as is the engine temperature. It looks like... low-powered state. I don't think anyone was planning on leaving anytime soon." She had no idea how long it took for a ship to go from a passive, low-powered state into an active, ready-to-fly state, but she at least knew it wasn't there yet. It wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, at the very least. "Let's see if I can find the Log. Manifests, crew, personnel... the works."

"I would normally just flash-copy the hard drive and have someone else look through it." Kryik commented from where he was at. He was somewhat sitting in the communication officer's chair, sitting on its edge since it didn't seem that Turian physiology and human seats worked well together due to their leg structure and calf spurs.

"Hello, investigator." Sam smiled as she returned her attention to the terminal, accessing what looked to be the main file. "How many times have you done that and wished you knew what you were getting yourself into, or found out later you might have missed out on something?"

"A few times." The Turian admitted, one of his mandibles twitching upward in a quirk. She supposed that was supposed to be like a mouth twitch whenever someone winced at someone having gotten the better of them. "More than a few times, now that I think about it. Besides, we've got the time. Investigate away, Deputy."

"With pleasure." Collins' fingers began working the Haptic interface of the keyboard, going through files with an eye on file names, item numbers, hidden file markers, date/time stamps, and temporary files. What Kryik was talking about, just flash-copying a hard drive, was something that they were taught back at school for expediency, but Sam had realized that there were files that generally didn't make it to storage; Cloud files, RAM data, cookies, ExtraNet folders and the like. Also, if someone had set up anti-intrusion software, malware, or nasty programming traps, those would get transferred as well, infecting data and evidence. Besides, she felt comfortable behind a computer, trawling through data and making connections. It was like a big puzzle to her, and she loved challenges and puzzles. "Okay, I've got ships' logs for destination points, ports, berths, and even dock points. Looks like this vessel been places; ports in the Eastern Traverse, the Skyllian Verge, Noveria... Hegemony Space." That last one had her wincing.

Relations between the Systems Alliance and the Khar'shanian Hegemony had been deteriorating for the past few years, especially after the Raping of Mindoir about four or five years back. Collins knew that while slavery was illegal in Council Space as well as all its proponents, it was actually legally tolerated in the case of Batarian Space, as the Hegemony practiced that disgusting trade. The Batarians claimed that it was part of their cultural heritage, that it stemmed from their Pillars of Strength that was jokingly known by humans as the Batarian Bible, and a whole slue of what seemed to fascist propaganda dealing with the exploitation and enslavement of sapient beings. The whole thought had her sick. She doubted very much that the Batarian propos talking heads that claimed the merits of chattlry had ever once felt a slave collar around their neck. If they had, she suspected they would be singing a different tune.

No one ever claimed the galaxy to be a fair place. She knew that better than most.

"Copying relevant files." Collins spoke up, transferring the data she was collecting into her Omnitool, copying the actual data and putting into a new file to transfer into her 'Tool's ChipDrive.

"Anything about cargo or manifests?" The Special Forces Warrior asked, interested.

"Yes, but... they're not accurate descriptions." Collins frowned as she read the descriptions. There were several manifests available to her, each having already been copied and transferred, but the descriptions were designated as units as oppose to defining what the parcels were, and didn't indicate what they might be. "I've got one that's labeled 'TAR' with a quantity of fifteen units. I can't tell if it's a purchase, a sale, a theft, or just a legitimate transportation log. Another is 'SSU' with seventy units. I got one..."

"Let me look?" Kryik asked, standing up and walking over to stand behind the Captain's chair, bending over so he could look at what Collins was referring to. She maximized the screen for easier reading.

 _DEC - 5 Units_

 _ESA - 50 Units_

 _PTH - 30 Units_

 _KIP - 5 Units_

 _SSU - 55 Units_

 _TAR - 15 Units_

"That was the last completed manifest." Collins tapped at the date/time stamp, indicating when the ship had last seen that particular cargo over a week ago. "According to this, the cargo was delivered to some moon in the Viper Nebula. System is Bahak, planet is Aratoth, moon is Garvex, and the port is..." The Blackwatch member immediately stood up with the last name that Collins spoke out, making the Deputy look behind her. She saw the Turian's mandibles squeezed very tightly against his face, and he looked very intimidating. "That base mean something to you?"

"Yes." The Turian replied, his flanged voice soft but hard. "I think I know what they're transporting, and they aren't smugglers." He bent down and pointed at one of the logs, 'TAR'. "I'm guessing this means 'Thessia, Asari Republic'. This one's 'Sur'kesh, Salarian Union'." Collins looked at the acronyms and quickly saw what the Centurion was referring to.

"Palaven, Turian Hierarchy. Earth, System Alliance. Dekunna, Elcor Confederacy. Kahje, Illuminated Primacy." She finished the rest, having seen the pattern for what it was. "Are they shipping stolen goods to these places? Delivering... eighty units of whatever it is to the Systems Alliance?"

"No." The Turian shook his head, closing his green eyes for a moment and letting off a too-human sigh. "No, that is the cargo's origin. Fifty units _came_ from the Systems Alliance, and it was shipped to Garvex. This must be a holding or storage facility, perhaps a place to lay low or place bids before they complete the rest of their journey to the Torfan Encampment on Garvex. Either way, we need to find this base and stop them."

"This... isn't a smuggler's ship, is it?" Collins asked, though in her heart, she thought she knew the answer. She prayed that she was wrong.

"No, no it isn't Deputy." The Blackwatch member replied, shaking his head, anger evident by the movement.

"Slavers. We stumbled onto slavers."

Author's Notes:

The _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel is described in the Galactic Citadel Codex as a 75.5 meter human-made transportation vessel. 75.5 meter is just shy of 248 feet.

50 mm is approximately 1.968 inches, so respectively, about 2 inches. In real life, EH is the grade of steel used in ship hulls, in which EH (or Grade E Hardness) is 40mm of thickness, due to the fact that many ships in the past have been lost due to fatigue and wear-and-tear, not necessarily unseen rocks or monsters in the deep.

While a good deal of what I write in the form of tactics and weaponry comes from my ten years of experience in the United States Army as a Cavalry Scout, there are references and ideas that I've found that I've liked for its creativity and practicality. For instance, Collins' use of a Glock is actually an idea that I've borrowed from FF's own Mytel's story _The Spirit Of Redemption_ , where Officer Elijah 'Eli' Sidonis is a cop who uses a future version of a riot shield, a Glock and a Beretta for battle. This _million-plus_ word story is quite good, extremely long, and actually was begun sometime after all the DLC's of ME2 came out, but before ME3 did (which is pretty apparent early on due to some events of the story, such as the destruction of Thessia and no mention whatsoever of StarFucker). If you've got a spare few months to do some intense reading, I recommend this story for its originality.

Room-clearing procedures are practiced by law enforcement and military rather religiously, as it represents one of the most dangerous tactics and situations one can be in minus clearing a tunnel. Special Operations units, such as SWAT, Delta Force, Spezielle Waffen und Taktiken (GSG-9), and Kommando Spezialkrafte (KSK) are generally trained at more advanced levels and even more dangerous situations; clearing entire buildings, aircraft, and the like. SEALs are generally trained how to clear boats and ships, which is about as insane as clearing a plane. For a reference, watch the crap movie _SWAT_ with Collin Ferrell and Sam Jackson where they describe (rather briefly) just how much shit can go wrong clearing a commercial airliner. We've learned since '72 Munich, when Palestinians kidnapped a portion of the Israeli Olympic Team and killed them.

Though there isn't a real timeline for the event of Torfan, based upon what little was said about it in ME1, I always thought that the Great Raid happened somewhere in between late '79 and early '81, as it was _after_ the Skyllian Blitz, or what at least broke the Batarian's back in any hopes of final retribution.


	3. Revan, III

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare…_

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshall Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins was hard at work on the terminal, looking through as much information as she could while Centurion Kryik was on his own red-colored Omnitool, tapping out a message on its Haptic interface, composing a message for reinforcements as well as medical staff to send back to his ship, which supposedly had a dedicated Light Relay Server that would tight-beam a message towards a comms buoy and message for help. They had no idea where the base was yet, and the Captain's log was unhelpful in the means of gleaning numbers or composition of the slavers that she had located. Yet that didn't stop her from looking for other evidence. Someone was kidnapping and enslaving people, and she was going to nail their asses to a wall for it.

"What are you looking for?" The Turian asked as he powered down his Omnitool, looking at her as she sat at the Captain's terminal.

"I originally got interested in this ship because of shipping discrepancies." Collins replied, never taking her eyes off of her work. "Mass inaccuracies compared to Customs declarations is what made me note of it first. This ship wasn't avoiding the authorities, but they somehow got past them. That leaves me only one conclusion in my mind; bribery." That had the Special Forces Turian 'hmmm' at the thought. "These slavers are operating in several jurisdictions throughout Council Space; Republican, Union, Hierarchy, and Alliance Space. If I can find a source here, their go-to point or man, I can stop the path. Perhaps if we catch the right people, someone will sing and net us some more." Sam had to blink rapidly; she was pissed and horrified at the same time. Slavery was happening right under the Frontier Marshall's Office's nose, and while she had caught it within her first few weeks of working there, all she could think of was _how long had it been going on?_ She had looked up previous manifests of 'cargo', and the numbers had almost made her want to vomit. Each run had consisted of over a thousand slaves, and the ship did something like fifteen run a year for the past four years. Seventy thousand slaves, the math told her as the Deputy looked through the terminal for a Customs Declaration Log. Whoever 'checked' the ship for accuracy was the weak point, as the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel would have to present it to another Systems Alliance port upon demand if they didn't want to go through Customs once more, paying the fees twice over and being searched twice. The devil was in the paperwork, after all.

She found them, going back three years. And they all had the same signature.

"Oh... oh fuck." Collins felt the words jumble out of her mouth when she saw the trend. Of course it would make sense in the long run, but she hadn't expected it. She wasn't even sure who ran Customs in Nova Yekaterinburg in Therum, if it was a Systems Alliance military official, someone in the Systems Alliance government, or someone in EarthGov. But someone had to have at least _attempted_ to do a Customs Inspection on the vessel before leaving the Knossos System, for trying to Jump from system-to-system with goods without a Customs Declaration Log would have all goods forfeited and the ship impounded by whatever agency stopped them. That meant the slavers needed someone on the inside to give them official documentation with the proper signatures, bribing them for their efforts.

And who better than a Marshal?

Sam felt her heart sink in her chest as she read the previous Customs Declaration Logs that were on the Captain's Log, each of them displaying Marshal Bartholomew Weathers' name as the Customs Declaration Officer. Technically, it was a part of his office, so having a Marshal's signature wasn't out of place. Plus, it would give more weight whenever presented as oppose to, say, some low-level desk jockey in the Customs Office. Collins could feel Kryik standing behind her, looking at the screen alongside her, no doubt seeing the same name she was.

"Anyone can sign a name. This isn't strict evidence that Marshal Weathers is involved." Collins said quickly, the sinking feeling in her heart building up as she looked at the Special Forces Warrior, who looked at her mutely. "Signatures get tossed in court case at quite a high percentage because prosecutors can't prove the actual person did the actual signature. Someone could be forging his signature and using his name, believing that level of authority would more than likely guarantee that fewer questions would be asked." The Centurion merely 'hmmm'ed at her explanation. "I... I just don't want to think that someone in my office is a part of this... this..."

"That I understand." The Turian replied softly, and the Deputy felt a gentle weight on the left pauldron of her armor. She saw that Kryik had put a reassuring taloned hand on her shoulder in attempt to assure or comfort her. "And it could be that you are correct, and that someone is using his name. It's been done before. I want to get whosever guilty of this, just as much as you. I need you to find out who is guilty or not, so the innocent are protect and the perpetrators don't get away. It's... not my normal procedure, but then again I usually don't have a cop sitting next to me, either." Collins realized that while he knew his job very well, and have many years of experience in this sort of thing over her, he was letting her do her job as well, letting their skills complement one another. He was a soldier, and she was an investigator. Together, they could accomplish more.

"Well, let me hunt though this hard drive and copy all the relevant information down and we can see what we can find out before we hit the base." The Deputy replied, feeling a little bit better about the situation. She wasn't under the impression that her trying to throw her weight as a Marshal Deputy would have any leeway whatsoever on this Blackwatch Centurion. He was using her to her full extent because he wanted it, simple as that. But it was certainly better than any of the alternatives. "I'm going to look up any recent messages to and from the ship. Maybe we can get some names, locations, and relevant information about this operation before we go in. Dead men tell no tales, after all."

"Have at it. I doubt these slavers are going anywhere now." The Turian replied, amused. Sam snorted as she went back to the terminal, and continued hunting down for information. She had already copied down the forty-seven files of Customs Declaration Forms that were supposedly signed by Marshal Weathers, as well as the previous travel logs of the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel. A good deal of the information would be gone over with a fine-tooth comb for the purpose of evidence and trial, whenever it made its way to the Alliance Justice System for prosecutors to fry the individuals responsible. She knew that slave rings such as this one would probably net hundreds of individuals in several locations, Marshals and the military swooping in a nabbing everyone involved. One had been broken up when she had been in college, and it had put away something like two hundred slavers and associates. Every piece of evidence would be another hatchet to bury into the case, to ensure that the guilty got what they so righteously deserved; a free vacation into the Mires in Venus, or perhaps Saraposa Suites on Ganymede. She heard that Council Space had a rather impressive prison facility on some hellhole known as the Kiln out near the Attican Traverse, and another only referred to as Butcher's Bay, cop talk passed from one law enforcement agent to another as to which deepest, shittiest pit in existence would be sufficient for some of the scum that they had found. Collins herself hadn't gotten any collars, considering since she had been assigned to monitor the far flung systems that no one really trafficked in the Artemis Tau, but in return she had stumbled upon a full-fledged slaver operation. She had just gone from piecemeal criminals to a full-blown criminal syndicate group that would certainly garner a lot of attention.

The more Sam thought about Marshal Weather's name on the Customs Logs, the less she thought it possible as she started fleecing through the ship's message log. She had, after all, stumbled upon it tracking ship entries through the Relay, and using deductive reasoning to figure out where this particular ship was heading to. If Bart Weathers had been a part of it, he could have easily waved off her evidence as an over-enthusiastic rookie trying to do the right thing. She would have accepted it without complaint and moved on, leaving the operation be. No, it didn't make sense. If he had been a part of it, he would have found a way to throw her off course without raising suspicions, not to mention the almost dozen other Deputies that worked in the Therum office as well. He would have to have a way to keep them from discovering the logs as well. No, that didn't make any sense whatsoever. Someone must be being bribed to pass the ship and its cargo off as inspected, and using Marshal Weather's name as the Inspector to guarantee a more likely successful flight. She went through the message logs to see other waypoints and contacts that the ship's Captain may have interacted with. Undoubtedly, there were other ports-of-call that had Customs checks that probably couldn't be avoided, as well as other berths and docks it must frequent. The more information and links she could pull, the more she could discover, and the harder she could clamp down on what was undoubtedly a slaver network. Slavery was beyond repulsive, and she wanted to clamp down on it. Hard.

She found the most recent message, and its content had her jaw drop.

 _Captain Pan'mekk,_

 _Let Ghephe know that one of my people discovered your operations somehow through your flight plan using some sort of algorithm involving fuel consumption, distance, Relay information, and some other factors I didn't really comprehend. I sent her on the slowest ship I had available to buy you some time to prepare for her arrival. She will be coming alone, and armed with marginal weapons. She thinks the operation is a smugglers' post, so she will be looking for cargo at best. I want half the cut of the profits for her capture and sale when you send her to the block for the intel. No need to let the others in the office know this._

 _\- BW_

"Oh... oh God..." Sam couldn't believe what she was reading, staring at the message for several moments. She eventually turned to look at Centurion Kryik, whose mandibles were practically grinding against his jaw; probably an indication of his foul mood. "Did... did my boss just sell me into slavery?" Her voice was weak, wavering. The evidence was pretty solid, and pointed right at Marshal Weathers. And he might not even be the only one involved, suggestion that the 'others in the office' didn't need to know. Were they aware of an operation? Or was he just keeping her discovery of it under wraps? The implication was alarming, either way. Her heart lurched in her chest at the thought of being captured and sold into slavery, half of the profits given to a man she thought to be a good cop. He had just sold her off as simple as that.

"I'm sorry." Kryik spoke quietly, resting a taloned hand on her shoulder once again. Collins shut her eyes tightly as the feelings of anger and betrayal washed over her, like a sharp, cold knife in her chest. God, was it really as simple as that?

"As long as I'm free to do something about it, I'm _going_ to do something about it." The Deputy replied, her words made of steel. "There are slavers here that are in need of stopping, and people who need freeing. And they think I'm _alone_."

"Element of surprise. I like your audacity." The Turian nodded, removing his hand. "Copy your evidence while I clear the rest of this ship of any unwanted passengers. The cargo containers will most likely be filled with the fettered, so they'll be better off left where they are as oppose to trying to leave the ship to this planet's gentle graces, or wandering in the middle of a firefight. See if you can get an idea about numbers, composition, strengths, and defenses. The more we know before we enter the better."

"Understood. And Kryik?" She turned to look at the Turian, who had been ready to leave the Bridge. His white-painted face turned to look at her for a long moment. "Thanks."

"For?"

"Being here." Collins looked to the holographic monitor with its damning message. "For being here when I needed it. If it had been just here by myself like my Marshal wanted..." She couldn't say it. No, she didn't want to say it. She killed the thought before it could finish. If she had been here by herself, she probably wouldn't have gone for the ship first, or wouldn't have been able to figure out what she had. Chances were, she might not have started off with the ship. If she had started with finding the base, she would have found a force ready and waiting for her. The thought of being enslaved... Sam shuddered with that. Kryik had already stepped off the Bridge to clear the rest of the ship as Collins continued to hunt for information and intelligence.

This case had just gotten a good deal more personal.

* * *

Council Agent Nihlus Kryik swept through the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel with ease, doing it at a speed and proficiency that befitted a Hierarchy Blackwatch Soldier, clearing each and every nook and cranny for more than just personnel; traps, sensors, locators, and anti-intrusion devices were all real concerns when it came to infiltrating locations and vessels. Thankfully, he had some of the best training money could get as well as a skill set that was beyond even that of a normal member of the Hierarchy Blackwatch. While rated as an Assault Specialist with training in heavy weapons deployment, rapid response intervention, and quick reaction mobility, Nihlus had picked up a few tidbits here and there from various 'friends' in the SPECTRE Home Office back on the Citadel, making up for his deficiencies and less-than-adequate skills. He would never be a software programmer, a hacker, or data trawler, so he had programs loaded in his Omnitool to make up for it. He would never be a Biotic, so he had learned tricks and had upgrades in his armor to make up for it as well. But when it came time to put rounds into target, there were few finer in the galaxy than Centurion Magnus Nihlus Kryik.

The engine compartment was cleared with speed and precision as he moved back to the corridor to face one of the cargo containers connected to the _Kolwoon_.

Nihlus thought of his newest acquisition, Deputy Collins. While Humans in general didn't interest or impress him, he had to admit that the cop was a little different than her normal run of kin. Trapezing on a toxic world solo usual spoke of rank stupidity, but the female had admitted to being a rookie, as well as acknowledging that perhaps it hadn't been the wisest of choices. Yet she had somehow found the possibility that the ship he was on was a smuggler's vessel through discrepancies in Customs. That in itself wasn't unusual; that was generally how C-Sec found such vessels and operations, inaccuracies in Customs forms or forged documentation. For a rookie, she was at least doing her job, and not to bad at it, either. Yet she had somehow tracked the ship through a Relay through its precise Jump points, recognizing it through Relay data.

That was Spirits-be-damned unusual.

Like most everyone else in the galaxy, ship recognition was generally done electronically, but through the means of radar, thermal patterns, and IFF beacons. Most was done through the military, some through various civilian vessels with such capabilities, as well as ports and docks who connected to such vessels through the means of tight-beam communications. While it was difficult to change an IFF module to change a vessels' registry, simply falsifying it at a dock or giving it an alternative name over communications was really quite easy, and with mass-produced vessels such as the human-made _Kolwoon_ -Class Transporter or its Turian equivalent, the _Scaviner_ -Class, locating a _particular_ one even within the same system generally meant it had to be docked or boarded to ascertain. Yet this female human being off in the _clocea_ end of the galaxy had somehow figured out how to do so by means of Relay data through a terminal.

How by Palaven had she been able to do that?

For millennia, anyone that was anyone when it came to military technology, law enforcement manufacturing, naval components, docking authorities, planetary defense fleets and the like, ship recognition was perhaps the premier goal to achieve. Being able to recognize a vessel for what it was at distances further than others generally had screen-watchers promoted and lauded upon aboard Turian Hierarchy vessels, as Nihlus assumed would be true aboard Asari Republic and Salarian Union vessels as well. Most vessels could only gain ship recognition at around one hundred million kilometers (in which a Human-made term was used to equate the distance, known as an AU). Radars, thermal imagers, LADARS, active pings and the like would help identification based off of shape, thermal plating, burn vector and output, helping whomever in whatever Ops Alley to help recognize a ship in the distance from the vastness of space. And that was just to _discover_ a vessel. Identifying it as friendly or not was a whole different set of rules based upon energy build-up, Eezo emissions, electrostatic discharge, thermal plate activation and radiation output, generally due to weapons systems and ionic disruption devices commonly called 'shields' were activated. Unfortunately, since it was hard to gain actual recognition at such distances at an AU, almost everyone powered up their weapons and shields just to be on the safe side. IFF recognition usually came in at 0.75 AU, along with radio communications, but such things could be altered and falsified. Pegging a ship for exactly what it was was the Eezo Standard among the galaxy, and the faster and further that one could do it, the more celebrated they were.

Supposedly, this female had done just this using a _vraking_ Relay!

Kryik hadn't told her the truth when he told her that he had been looking into the supposed smugglers and followed her to Revan for the purpose of hunting them down. Honestly, he hadn't known they existed, and he could have cared less. No, he was here for her. STG Operatives in the SPECTRE Home Office had been pinged when someone had tapped into a Mass Relay for its data; usually someone did that to activate a Relay, deactivate it, or study it. Since those three were illegal, the team of Salarians had easily hacked through the computer's firewalls in the Marshal's Office on Therum to discover who and why. They had been perplexed when they discovered that someone was looking at Jump records; not illegal, but confusing. Every time a ship made a Jump through a Mass Relay, a log of information was recorded on the Relay's database, a long string of numbers, letters, and symbols depicting the event. Unfortunately, the information was worthless; centuries of astronavigators, mathematicians, cryptologists, and even Protheantologists had all tried and failed to make any sense of the information. What had perplexed the Salarians was that not only was this Human accessing Jump data, she had evidently pegged a particular set of Jump data entries as the same vessel based upon a varying degree of factors according to her terminal; weight, mass, fuel, fuel consumption, electrostatic charge, and the like. The Salarians had worked on the ones she had identified to decode what she had done and how she had done it, trying to find why she thought _that_ set of entries was tied to just _one_ ship. They were never able to ascertain how she was able to do it or what led her to believe why she was correct, but various searches and hacks through ports and various military logs did indicate that not only had she tracked _a_ singular _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel through several Jumps coming into the Artemis Tau Relay, but every indication led credence that it might have even been the _same_ vessel.

Nihlus Kryik had been sent to collect her.

Unfortunately, the SPECTRE had arrived about an hour too late. The Deputy in question had already left Therum to track down the _Kolwoon_ at some other system, surprisingly using some deductive reasoning to figure out what system they might have gone based upon the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessels' capabilities, fuel storage, fuel expenditure based upon how much their purchased, and what was in range. That... didn't seem right. The Turian didn't think C-Sec did that. He knew he didn't. Spirits! If this female was only half as good as he suspected she might be, she would obliterate the playing field when it came to ship recognition! Being able to identify a ship at a _vraking_ Relay? Dozens if not hundreds of AU's away, depending on the system? Even across a Jump? No one would be able to hide from her!

The SPECTRE Home Office wanted her... badly. The Hierarchy and Republic Ambassadors had already been clued in that just about any concessions or price the Systems Alliance might name should be paid without question for the chance to obtain this female. And the Home Office was very willing to foot the bill for the Human female.

But he had found her not at her police office, but on a toxic world where some _s'kak_ was going down.

His Corvette-Class transport, the _Unbridled Justice_ had easily caught up to the Deputy's own pathetic UT-32 planet jumper in FTL, keeping enough distance back while they traversed between systems, his highly advanced Corvette with its superior sensors and tracking systems easily able to shadow the rather primitive UT-32. He had followed her into the Thermopile System with ease, and had kept her in his ship's radar as she traveled to Revan. He had changed the perimeters of the mission considering it had gone and changed on him. He was originally going to have the Deputy try to locate a few false ships and a couple of real ones to see her efficiency levels, to see how she did it, ascertain if it was replicable, and what kind of software she might be using. Unfortunately, he had caught her in the middle of an op, the Deputy flying solo to some backwater system to track down what she believed to be smugglers and their encampment. The change in mission was actually a positive one; she had hunted down what she thought a smugglers' ship through a variety of factors, and had even traced it to the possible system and planet they were using to load and unload their cargo. That was the good news. Seeing how she performed on the op was secondary; the Office of Special Tactics was filled with soldiers, warriors, huntresses, and shooters, and another really wasn't necessary. But it would give him an opportunity to observe how she performed, and what she did. That her first thought wasn't to shoot first and ask questions later was nice. As a cop, Collins was interested in collecting evidence to put the guilty behind bars, and she was oriented in collecting information and intelligence before rushing headlong into a questionable situation. That proved that she was inexperienced, but not reckless. That was good, too.

Now he just had to get her off this _vraking_ planet while slogging talons deep with what appeared to be a full-fledge slaver operation.

The Council Agent stood in front of the access door to one of the cargo containers, the lock on it embarrassingly easy to defeat with his high-level intrusion software programs loaded into his top-of-the-line Omnitool. A part of him wanted to open the door to inspect it, and another part of him didn't. He had a pretty good idea what he would discover if he did, and he was no stranger to slave camps and bases. The thought disgusted him to his very core, and the sight was always a Spirit-shattering one. He didn't need to see it, to see the pleading faces and the faint glimmer of hope in the eyes of sapients begging to be rescued. Honestly, they were safe where they were, the crew not aboard the ship and with him being able to prevent access and take-off if necessary. Besides, releasing the slaves before confronting the slavers could lead to a good deal of scenarios that might end up with hostage situations, friendlies in the middle of a firefight, or other less-than-pleasant cases. While he knew what he would do in such situations, he couldn't say how Deputy Collins would handle it, or what her base decision would be. As a cop, she'd probably be duty-bound to protect said persons, increasing the likelihood of unpleasantness. If there was a hostage situation, Nihlus would kill both slave and slaver if necessary and it was possible that the Human female would not look upon that decision favorably. The Office of Special Tactics wanted her, but she would hardly say yes if she thought him some murderer or cruel.

No, better to leave the slaves absconded where they were. They could come back later when it was safer.

"I want to look inside."

Kryik almost jumped out of his plates when he heard the Deputy's voice next to him, the smaller Human speaking as she looked at the door, obviously figuring it to be what he thought it to be. She was facing the access, obviously ready to deal with whatever was on the other side. Naive. She wasn't ready for such things.

"You really don't want to." Nihlus replied as calmly and rationally as he could. He really hadn't interacted with Humans that much, though he had been selected for this mission because out of the Turian Agents, he had a more favorable chance among some of the younger Humans for cooperation. He thought an Asari might have been a better choice, but many of the Thessian Council Agents generally had a smug, superior aire about them when dealing with what they called 'the lesser races'. And Salarians were too fast and fidgety for most Humans to be comfortable with. So he had been selected out of hundreds of possible candidates to look into what might potentially be the first Human to be offered a place in the Office of Special Tactics. The Special Forces Warrior wasn't sure if he should feel honored or not for that distinction, but it said something that someone was willing to try.

"I'm a cop. I'm going to see bad shit." The Deputy rationalized, never looking at him, but the door. "It probably won't get much worse than this, and it probably won't get much _safer_ than this. Someone thinks this is right and proper in some fashion, be it for money or business, the taking of sentient beings. I... _should_ see it. Who is to say what we might find in the base?" She finally turned to face him, and Nihlus found himself looking at eyes the color of water staring back at him. Well, she might be naive, but she wasn't completely naive. And she certainly wasn't interested in being coddled. The Deputy also brought up a fair point; who was to say what they might find in the base? There could be active pens in a ship dock, cells stuffed full, or even sadistic torture. All could be distracting, especially to an acknowledged rookie. This kind of motivation could prove the difference.

"You are sure?" He asked once, neither condemning nor condoning her as he watched her nod once, her eyes haunted, reading herself for what she was about to see. Honestly, nothing could truly prepare oneself for such a sight, but at the very least she wasn't pretending that the galaxy was fair. Nihlus sighed as he lifted his left arm and activated his Omnitool, accessing the intrusion software app and directing it towards the electronic lock that kept the cargo door magnetically sealed. It took only a few seconds for the high-powered virus to rewrite the code that kept the door locked, opening it with an affirmation noise as the holographic representation at the center of the door switched from red to green, indicating that they had access. "However bad you think it will be... it will probably be much worse than you can guess."

"I know. That's why I _need_ to see." The female replied, steeling herself. Well, she had spirit, that was for sure. The door slid open and together Human and Turian walked into a room filled with horror and nightmares that had even the Council Agent shuddering in revolting anger and fear.

Spirits of Palaven, now he knew he shouldn't have seen... this.


	4. Revan, IV

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare…_

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

 **Author's Note** : I will be discussing slaves, and I went with one of the worse-case scenarios I could think up of for this chapter. I have sadly seen slaves in the Middle East from Pakistan and Iraq as well as from other places in Southeast Asia. While it might not be chattel slavery, debt bondage, force marriages, indentured servitude, coerced servitude, and religious bondage are very real. Think I'm bullshitting you? ISIS thinks it's funny to capture Yazidis and force them into slavery, and about half of the 'insurgents' we faced in the Iraq War were more than likely coerced and threatened with punishment to their family members if they didn't dig holes and plant bombs to hurt American Soldiers thanks to the remnants of the Ba'ath Party, Al-Quada, and other fun-filled terrorist groups. There are more slaves today than have ever existed in the history of the world prior to 1950 put together, and the last legitimate 'slave' country (Mauritania) outlawed the practice in 2007.

 _And there's your fucking Social Studies lesson, kiddies._

* * *

Alliance Frontier Marshall Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins saw a sight that broke her heart and bled her soul.

A part of her was already regretting her bravado with Centurion Kryik, reasoning with him to gain access into the cargo container. She had no illusions about what was held behind the door that would lead them to the detachable cargo container; it would contain slaves. She had seen a few pictures of what some earlier efforts had netted whenever the Systems Alliance military or some police bust had dropped in on a slave camp, the members trying to save the people fettered. Honestly, some of those pictures had made Sam nauseated just to look at them. She needed to get over that, considering that the base itself might hold slaves. Who was to say she didn't open a door to see a dozen held, locked up, penned, corralled, or imprisoned. She wasn't lying when she said she needed to see it in case she stumbled upon it. How would she react would depend on the situation, but being in the middle of a raid or an op and freezing due to her innocence in such things was a good way of getting her killed. This was the safer, more preferred method. She needed to see it with her own eyes to make herself immune to any future horror she might come across in the foreseeable future.

But this? God, Kryik was right; it was worse than what she had originally guessed.

The slaves were very young children.

Collins stepped into the cargo container, measuring thirty meters by ten, a rectangular shape in which most of it was devoted to the action of enslaving another sentient being. The Deputy had honestly been picturing prison cells with people in it. But that wasn't the case. Instead, she found herself looking at bolted medical beds with tiny bodies strapped to their surfaces, with various fluids being fed intravenously to the 'patients'. There were forty tables in the cargo container and each had something interred upon it.

"Oh God... oh God no..." Collins breathed out as she looked upon the nearest table to her, sitting but a meter away from the access door, right in front of her. The Deputy felt her bottom lip quiver in grief and anger as she took a few steps forward to see what was absconded there. On the table was a tiny body perhaps half a meter or so in length, and perhaps only weighing in at ten kilograms in weight. The body was covered in what almost appeared to be whitish fur, though she could see the sinews and tissues of flesh underneath. She almost didn't recognize that it was a baby Turian until she looked at its head, seeing a pair of small mandibles resting along the jaw and mouth, the lack of a crest throwing her off as well. She could see three small talons that were the fingers curled upon themselves, the Turian baby lying naked without any kind of blanket or covering to keep it warm or clean. Like an object, Collins realized to her abject disgust. She had honestly been picturing adults; useful, work-capable adults, like in the old pics from history books about Earth. Not that it was any better, but that had been what she had been expecting. To see children... no, _babes_?

She wanted to throw up.

"Some barefaced, sire- _vraking_ , _clocea_ is going to burn for this." Centurion Kryik growled in the most menacing tone Sam had ever heard in her life, to include human beings. A look at him showed the Turian practically grinding his mandibles hard against his jaw, like a man gnashing his teeth in anger and rage. "And I'm going to watch it. And enjoy." Collins remember hearing once that Turians took crimes against children extremely seriously, and that the punishment for willfully harming a 'hatchling' was akin to skinning someone alive and cauterizing the wounds just to make it last longer and hurt worse. Turians obviously did not fuck around. While she didn't have that kind of personality or mentality, Collins couldn't say she disagreed with Kryik's sentiment. She wanted someone to pay dearly, and a life sentence in prison just didn't seem so lucrative at the moment. She saw what had to be an Asari daughter by the Turian child, giving the same deplorable dignity, seemingly asleep. In fact, of the forty children in the cargo container, they all appeared to be asleep.

"Chemical sleep?" Sam asked, frowning. If it was meant to keep the children docile and undiscovered, it seemed like a likely purpose. But she noted that each of the patients wore some sort of steel band around their heads, to the equivalent of their foreheads for each of the species. The band had several wires connected to it, running to the beds underneath. "I don't see babies being a flight risk."

"It isn't for escape attempts." The Special Forces Warrior replied, his flanged voice ugly. "That's a Cortex Containment Modulator. It's meant to erase memories and implant code words to promote docility and obedience into the workers to ensure both efficiency and a reduced risk of revolt or escape."

"They're... _indoctrinating_ them?" Collins gasped in horror, now really feeling sick. This was beyond anything she could even comprehend. It wasn't bad enough that they kidnapped these children? Sold them to slavery? No, the bondage was implanted into their mind, articulated into their brains. She was uncomfortably reminded of a classical literature story by Adolphus Huxley called _Brave New World_ in which humans were fed subliminal messages to promote their social caste system based upon their intelligence, brainwashed into believing that their socialist-propaganda way of life was for the best, and no other option was available. Brainwashing children into being drones? How much fucking _sicker_ could this get? Collins noted that, while all the Asari were deemed 'females' anyhow due to their race, the twenty or so human children that she saw on various tables were girls. "Kryik? Are these Turian hatchlings... are they girls? I don't know how to distinguish the difference."

"Yes. All of them." The Centurion replied, and then his head snapped over to look at her. "The human hatchlings, too?"

"Yes. All girls." Sam felt her heart almost stop in her chest as a cold, cold feeling filled within her. Sex slavery was her first thought, but she remembered seeing that there were 'thirty units' from the Turian Hierarchy. Thirty Turian pleasure slaves didn't exactly seem... likely. Turians were of dextro-chilary, and as far she was aware, weren't compatible with mating with any other race, not even the Quarians, in which there were no 'units' of nor likely would be due to their lifestyle of living in personal environmental containment suits. Asari could technically mate with anything, so an Asari sex slave made sense, especially in the numbers they ship had reported. Supposedly, human females were in particular demand as well. But there were Elcor present, as well as... some lizard-looking race that she thought might be Drell, though she wasn't sure. Sam didn't know if Drells possessed penises or not, but none of the three seemed to possess anything suggesting it. "Oh God... I think they're breeders." Collins realized, the thought clicking into place. "Brainwashing them into creating a literal slave race. A human woman can have as many as twelve children in her lifetime if conditions allow it. Twenty women in twenty years can literally _quadruple_ the population, and another twenty years you'd see an increase literally in the thousands range. No need to chattel or capture if you can literally grow your own in your own backyard."

" _Spirits_." The venom in Kryik's voice was gone, replaced with horror. "I think you're right, Deputy. The Salarians are obviously male, as females are very rare, perhaps one in ten thousand. But if they had a Dalatrass in their possession, all the males would be subjected to her influence and control, as well as creating clutches of perhaps fifty at a time." Collins hadn't known that, and the thought was very disturbing indeed. "This needs to be stopped. _Now."_

"Agreed." The Deputy replied as she looked over the captured children, her heart breaking as she took a step back. As much as she wanted to pull them all away right then and there, she'd have no idea what to do with a litter of babies ranging several species. At the least, they were being fed intravenously and kept asleep. They were safe for the time being, and protected until whomever they called to rescue them came. "I'm sorry, little ones." Sam whispered, blinking away tears as she took another step back. God, and this had only been the first cargo container. Were the other three like this? She found that she really didn't want to know. "Hold on. Help is here, and rescue will be on the way."

"But first, we have a lot of justice to dispense." The Centurion growled, the venom returning, strong enough to scar steel.

"Agreed."

* * *

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Collins stood in the airlock of the _Kolwoon_ -Class transport vessel with Blackwatch Centurion Kryik as the ships' automated system began the process of decontamination and atmospheric equalization as they prepared to disembark the ship and enter into the slavers base that was perhaps only thirty meters away from the nose of the spacecraft. Collins had discovered its exact location on the ship's Log, and now she and the Blackwatch Turian were going to exploit it. With extreme prejudice.

"Kryik? I need to ask you something." Collins spoke up as the two meter by two meter containment room that represented the airlock began to bombard them with a fairly intense level of x-rays and vaporized bleach to kill any bacteria and viruses that might be in the air, as well as disinfecting their respective armors. They were both completely suited up, their helmets attached as they waited for the ninety second decontamination cycle to process through. "I have no illusions of what you are or what you plan to do, which isn't exactly allowed in the Systems Alliance Ministry of Justice Code of Ethics." The Turian merely looked at her through his darkened visor, disguising whatever facial expression he might have. "All I ask is that there are no blatant executions or torture, and I would like it if we could capture someone higher up in the meritocracy of this base, someone who has a chance of knowing more than just the going-on's of this base."

 _"Meaning?_ " Well, at least he wasn't dismissing her completely out-of-turn.

"I doubt this is the only base, the only ship, or the only crew." Collins surmised as the x-ray scanner swept the small containment room, running over them slowly. "There are other locations, other involved personnel, other officials being bribed and profiting from this. This isn't a small operation for the kind of money they are making and the kind of effort they are involved with. Somewhere out there in the black, there is a _capo_ who is staring at his terminal at each transaction, counting his profits and benefiting from the misery of slaves. One of these men may know something. Stamping this base is retribution, but stamping out this entire operation?" That had the Turian slowly nod his helmeted head. "I want to save these people, but I also want to save all the ones that might be involved with future raids and kidnappings. For every slaver we stop, that could be dozens of people we save from bondage each. But a head honcho? A financier? A decision-maker?" She let that sink in, and the Turian shifted in place. "We nab one of those, and that's tens of thousands of people we protect that will never get to know that fear and misery. Maybe even more."

 _"I understand."_ The Special Forces Warrior let out a long breath, obviously doing his best to get his temper in check, to be professional. _"And... you're correct. Why settle for menial labor and crumbs when we can get the bosses and the whole herd? I will..._ restrain _myself. If we find the Captain of this ship or this base, we will subdue them to exploit whatever intelligence they may happen to have."_

"Thank you." The vaporized bleach had finally stopped spraying from the ceiling nozzles as the airlock vaccumized itself to suck in the purification vapors, as well as the breathable atmosphere. The x-ray scanner had finished as well as the cycle continued by equalizing with the outside atmosphere; the deadly mixture of methane and ammonia at three times normal Earth air pressure. Sam bore no love for this toxic planet, and the soon she was off, the better. Who would have thought Therum would be more pleasant-sounding with its higher-than-comfortable temperatures, ear-popping lower air pressure, and higher-than-normal gravity? At least she could walk outside without a pressure suit.

The deconn cycle finished as the exterior doors of the _Kolwoon_ opened to reveal the pea soup landscape of Revan, the ever-present fog of methane and ammonia making everything an ugly greenish color as Centurion Kryik walked out first, disembarking the vessel with his Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle in his talons while Collins herself had her Nexus 2169 Lawbringer reading in her own hands, fully charged and ready to engage any targets. She had opted for its made mode of operations, the phasic round that would short and lock up a suit of armor or a hardsuit with its electrically-charged rounds, while the rounds themselves were designed to strike at being and cause them to be staggered, fall back, and be injured as oppose to penetrating armor and potentially killing criminals or innocents who might get in the crossfire. Despite that it was meant to be a sub-lethal weapon, it did come with a lethal fire option that was actually rather underpowered compared to most military assault rifles and high-powered civilian models. It wasn't very good at breaking shields or penetrating armor, but it was meant to give an officer of the law the ability to kill if needed. Honestly, the phasic option was a much better choice for something such as this, where criminals were likely to be wearing armor with VI suites installed in them and hardsuits with environmentally regulated conditions. Such opponents she could disable with just a shot or two in the chest area, locking up servos and shutting down VI-driven systems, practically freezing a person solid, or if they were tough enough to fight through not having any electronic assists in their armor, would severely reduce their speed and capabilities.

Her heart was beating quickly in her chest at the thought of the impeding battle she would soon be joining, the chance to serve and protect in a way she never thought possible. She was about to enter into a compound filled with slavers, with a Blackwatch Centurion at her side! A part of her was excited, a part of her was nervous, and a part of her wanted to throw up in her helmet. She was about to go and kill men, and men were about to try and kill her. A part of her mind knew that this might be a possibility when becoming a Marshal, but she had never thought it would be so soon, without any back-up or other Marshals at her side. This was the kind of shit that had Systems Alliance Marines pumped up and howling for blood, not Frontier Marshals excited and elated at the thought of engaging a potential shitstorm of bullets. Though she didn't want to say it out loud, she was rather glad she had Centurion Kryik with her as she followed in his wake, the Turian moving towards the entrance of the base. How many ops like this had the Special Forces Warrior had? She wasn't about to ask, but the Turian didn't look concerned or worried. That in itself was a relief. She might not have been exactly thrilled with the thought of fighting alongside a Turian, but she wasn't stupid; she'd take any help she could get when outnumbered and possibly outgunned.

The walk across Revan's surface was silent, no words passing in between the Marshal and the Centurion as they approached the base, which began to appear through the dense, soupy fog of the toxic world. The base was actually a colony starter kit pre-fab building, one of those self-efficient models that towered at some twenty-five meters in height and encompassed something like two hundred thousand square meters. It was obviously Volus-made, considering the squat, blocky appearance of it, as oppose to a human-made one that was more in the shape of a cut-top pyramid to avoid structural damages due to wind and gravity. Collins was uncomfortably reminded that these buildings were about the same size as a department store, could house thousands of people, and were built to keep a population self-sufficient through hydro-recycling, hydroponics, atmospheric exchangers, and its own inclusive power supply. In other words, they weren't going to stave the slavers out or intimidate them with some sort of blockade. It was like having to clear out an Amazon Department Store built to last fifty years without ever having to ask for shipments, and she was uncomfortably aware just how big one of those could be. Clearing one with just two people? Sam prayed to God that there were hallways, small rooms, and a good deal of defensive positions that they could take advantage of. She hadn't been trained for this level of combat.

She could be dead in the next five minutes, and the thought didn't sit well with her.

 _There are over a hundred captured souls aboard that ship that didn't ask to be kidnapped and enslaved,_ the Deputy reminded herself, remembering the sight of human babies, Asari daughters, and Turian chicks laying naked and strapped to metal tables like... like merchandise up for sale. _God only knows if there are more in that base, but there are people who need rescuing, and you are an Officer of the Law!_ The fear of death subsided slightly at the thought, reminding her why she was here, why she was walking towards what was undoubtedly a slaver stronghold. There were sentient beings profiting off the misery and enslavement of others, thinking only God knew what to justify their actions. They were breaking the law and getting away with it. Worse, they probably flouted the fact, thinking themselves on top of their game, bribing the right people and finding the right routes. Sam wondered what they did when they heard some child beg, crying for their parents. Did they even feel bad? Did they laugh? God forbid, did they take _advantage_ of the situation? All the children they had found had been females, and it wasn't too unreasonable to believe that some of the slavers had disgusting tastes. That filled her with fury.

No, this needed to be done, and she was going to see it through, from the moment the front door opened to the final click of the handcuffs around the perpetrators' wrists. Death was too good for them, and she'd be damned if she were going to die and fail those children.

"'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall up with our English dead'." Sam spoke softly to herself, remembering reading _Henry V_ when she was a teenager. "'In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility; but when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger'."

 _"What's that from?"_ Kryik asked, startling her for a moment. Collins hadn't thought she had spoken it loud enough for the vox to pick it up.

"A human play, from one of the most celebrated human writers in history." Collins replied, seeing the outline of the pre-fab in front of her, frowning. "King Henry the Fifth invaded a country that tried to have him assassinated with something like half to a third of the French forces. Despite invading by sea and hosting a force mostly composed of archers, the English killed something close to eight thousand men while losing something like less than two hundred. It was one of the largest upsets in human warfare."

 _"Appropriate."_ The Centurion replied as they walked towards the main facility door, where another airlock stood before them. _"Tell your King Henry we could use a little of that English Spirit for what we're about to do."_

"I think he would agree and be happy to lend a hand were he here." Sam replied softly as they moved towards the door, taking one side as the Turian took the other. "'Here I abandon peace and desecrate law. Fortune, it is you I follow. Farewell to treaties, for from now on war shall be my judge. _Morituri te salutant'."_ The Turian looked across from the door to look at her through his darkened visor. "I thought Julius Caesar would be appropriate."

 _"I didn't get the last part translated."_ The Centurion asked, curious.

"We who are about to die salute you."

 _"Sounds good to me."_ The Special Forces Warrior replied as he grabbed the airlock release lever and rotated it, gaining them access to the colony starter kit pre-fab building that was being used by slavers, and assaulted the building.

* * *

A/N: "Once more unto the breach, dear friends..." is a quote from William Shakespeare's _Henry V_ , and was indeed about the Battle of Agincourt. The British were outnumbered about 4 to 3 to 6 to 1 (depending on records) and trounced the French on their own territory. Henry would later marry the French King's daughter and give birth to Henry VI/II, who rules England and France.

"Here I abandon peace and desecrate law..." is a quote from Julius Caesar, attributed when he crossed the Rubicon to invade Rome itself. It was Roman _Republic_ law that no Army could do so, but Caesar did and became the tyrant we all know and love. Considering he conquered like half of France, England, built a bridge to sack the Germans across the Rhine while as Pope, Military Governor, and General, I somehow wonder why the Romans were surprised by all this.


	5. Revan, V

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare…_

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins felt her breath coming in short, fast bursts as she and her Blackwatch companion, Centurion Kryik, entered through the interior door of the airlock, entering the facility of the colony starter kit pre-fab building, finding themselves in what had to be a storage garage meant for vehicles, equipment, and supplies. The room was approximately thirty-three meters by thirty-three meters, with a variety of small cargo containers that ranged from easily portable to crates that needed electric forklifts to move. There seemed to be no sense of pattern or organization to the containers, set and stacked wherever it was expediently convenient. At first, Collins thought it inefficient and lazy for such a distribution point to be so cluttered, with no obvious path or route to take. She then realized that it was on purpose; the inhabitants had prepared for a possible altercation, and had clogged up the first available room with containers to create a haphazard labyrinth for their own devices. It was smart, actually. Clearing the storage garage would be a righteous pain in the ass, and probably impossible for two people, even one with Kryik's skill and ability as a Blackwatch Commando.

Together, they took the first available cover inside the garage, a pair of steel boxes that were perhaps half of Sam's height.

The Deputy frowned as she crouched below the lip of the small container, facing towards Kryik so she could watch his flank and back as he did the same, the both of them taking defensive positions, readying their weapons. Collins opened up her Omnitool and quickly went through several police-oriented apps until she found one that she was looking for, simply named 'flash'. She selected it and let the program ready itself. While most of her police-oriented apps and programs weren't meant to be lethal, they were on the other hand useful in the effort of gaining the upper hand against criminals and perpetrators. Slavers might be better equipped than some drunk or heat-of-the-moment murderer, but her cop apps would still be useful against them.

Centurion Kryik slowly raised his Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle over the lip of his cover as he scanned the way ahead of him with his weapon, not even looking over the cover himself. _Huh, must have a vid-mount on his weapon. Handy,_ Collins thought to herself as she watched the Vapor slowly scan an arc across the room from left to right.

 _"Collins,"_ the Turian's voice came through her helmet's communication speaker, meaning that he was talking to her through a link on their Omnitools, _"I'm going to send you a software download that will give you a HUD readout on your Omnitool. It's a program that detects heartbeats through a sensor on my rifle. With it, you'll be able to monitor and track personnel in this room. Just a reminder, it isn't perfect, and it can be interfered with walls, containers, and operating machinery. Still, it is better than nothing."_

"Okay, send it." The Deputy replied, seeing an 'accept/decline' window appear on her Omnitool for an impending download. She accepted it, and the status bar quickly filled up as the program was loaded into her Omnitool, opening up when the download was finished. A small holographic window appeared above her left wrist with a one hundred and twenty degree arc in front of her, expanding out to fifty meters. There were at least seven red dots populating the viewer that was now hovering over her left wrist as she held her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle against her right shoulder at the ready. There were no indications of walls or cover on the radar, but just knowing something of their numbers was enough. She looked at how the dots were dispersed, and saw that there were more on Kryik's side than her own. She oriented the map in relation to the room, and saw that the three on her side were all behind a sizeable container that could provide cover for several people. "You have anything that can flush them out?"

 _"It just so happens that I do."_ The Special Forces Warrior replied as he plucked something off of his equipment belt, something that looked like a ball with a stick on the end of it. Collins realized quickly that it was a Hierarchy Infantry Kill Grenade as the Blackwatch Operative flung it from its rod end, the grenade sailing over some of the cover. The Deputy ducked even further down, having heard stories of the HIK Grenade, the object landing on the spherical side with the rod standing straight up no matter the environment, filled with magnesium sulfate and tri-ex compounds that would kill anything in a ten meter radius. A loud _kar-poom_ shattered the silence of the storage garage as a plumb of smoke and debris sprayed throughout the garage as a wash of vaporous fire splashed through the spaces in between the containers, meant to stick onto armor and set objects on fire to bring troops out of defensive positions through intimidation and fear.

Sam raised her Lawbringer up as she saw two men burst from around the corner of one long container, trailing smoke and dull fire, panicking despite the fact that the fire was barely hot enough to smolder clothes or blister skin. Collins took aim as she fired her 2169 at the two men, phasic rounds being sent through the electromagnetic rails of her assault rifle, propelled by a pulse of energy that collected in the surgical steel round to give it its piezoelectric properties as the round was lightened by the means of the Mass Effect with a modicum amount of Eezo in her weapon, the round propelled at a small percentage of the speed of light. The supersonic rounds crashed into the forms of the two sapient beings, the rounds flattening upon impact to convert all their energy into impact instead of piercing, punching them men at a kinetic force stronger than any fist as the piezoelectric properties of the rounds surged through any electronic components and programs their armor might have had upon impact, shorting or seizing it. The men fell quickly into crumpling piles in just four shots, their bodies in a fetal position as they remained still, their armors' VI's overloaded and shutdown as servos and assists locked into place, turning their armors into temporary prisons. Coupling that with the blunt force trauma of the actual round impacts, Collins knew that neither man would be getting up anytime soon. She looked at her Omnitool display, the heartbeat radar operating off of Kryik's weapon displaying no more red dots. The two she had shot were displayed as a much duller red, while there was one that was black over by the Turian's side; obviously dead. The other four were still positioned behind the containers, but those were black as well.

 _"Negative contacts."_ Kryik announced over the communicator, his flanged voice soft as he swept the storage garage with his Vapor Assault Rifle. _"That grenade and the gunfire will undoubtedly bring someone to investigate to see which side won."_

"Would it be smarter to stay put, or clear the room and keep eye on the access point, and use the room to our advantage?" Collins asked, figuring that, as a soldier, the Blackwatch Commando would know better than she. Clearing a room of this size with this much clutter would be a righteous pain in the ass. On the other hand, holding the only other entrance on lockdown with their weapons would give them the clear advantage. She thought that would be the right answer, but with just two of them, clearing a room with the possibility of assaulting enemies on the way... she wasn't sure. That's why she asked the expert.

 _"Clear it."_ The Special Forces Warrior replied as he pulled something off of his belt, a disc about twice the size of a hockey puck. _"But there's no need to get ourselves worked up unnecessarily when we can take advantage of a lull in battle."_ The Turian tossed the disc out a few meters before him and keyed something up on his Omnitool, and much to Collin's shock, she watched as the disc unfolded into what appeared to be a surveillance drone; several ribbon-like ribs came out from each side like wings while an obvious oculus head unfolded to the front while several tail-like spikes came from the back. Jesus, it looked like the drone version of a Turian Bird of Prey!

"Surveillance package?" Collins asked, almost afraid to ask. Special Operations equipment could be classified or illegal to admit to having, for all she knew.

 _"Surveillance package with micro-rockets and a suicide run protocol."_ The Turian replied, his tone almost cheerful at the description. The drone lifted up into the air by several meters, obviously using contragravity thrusters to do so. Kryik typed in a series of commands, and the drone flew forward faster than Collins could run, going through the storage garage by threading around the containers. It was obviously a scout drone meant to discover signs of life, and with micro-rockets, engage any targets discovered. _"Move forward, the main access hatch is through this mess. The drone will clear the way ahead of us and be posted to observe the main airlock and watch our backs in case anyone gets smart."_ Sam just nodded as she stood along with the Blackwatch member, finding out just how truly martial Turians could be. She had heard stories her whole life about the aggressive, war-like race, but this was her first opportunity to discover the fact for herself. Grenades that were more powerful than human ones, weapons that were more advanced, drones that seemingly did the job of another soldier? She was almost afraid to ask what other tricks the Turian might have had in his arsenal. The Special Forces Warrior moved around his cover and towards an access way through the maze of haphazardly set cargo containers, his Vapor Assault Rifle leading the way as Collins moved in behind him, careful to keep a meter or two behind him as she followed him with her 2169 Lawbringer up and ready, checking each corner and space something could hide behind or around as she did so on her right side while Kryik did the left side.

They approached the two men she had shot earlier, still and unresponsive, and the Turian seemed to figure without being told to stand guard as she moved to their position. Sam brought up her Omnitool and selected an app from her list of law enforcement-related programs, and found the one she was looking for, simply titled 'Cuffs'. She keyed up the program and her Omnitool created a pair of thin metal rings around one assailant's wrists', fusing them together at the metal to apprehend the subject. She went to the next body to do the same thing. The Lawbringer was good for keeping a suspect immobilized for several hours at the very least as long as no one came by and figured out how to pry them out of their malfunctioning armor, but it paid to be smarter than that by further binding a subject, cuffing them with their arms behind their backs as cops had been doing for centuries. Though the perpetrators were fully armored, it wasn't hard to determine their race, Collins noted. They had five fingers like humans and Asari, but their helmets were definitely not designed for Earth-related species. The visor was too large for just an eye slit, and the crown portion at the top of the helmet wasn't quite as rounded as her own, being more of an oval shape.

"Batarians." Deputy Collins noted out loud, informing her companion as she finished cuffing the last subject, securing their weapons and pressing her Omnitool into each while selecting another cop app, this one called 'Disarm'. It simply shorted out the VIOS chip installed in the weapons that regulated the electromagnetic output, electrical charge, and the use of Mass Effect to lighten rounds, effectively disabling the weapon permanently by electrocuting it. Suspects apprehended and their assault rifles out of commission, she looked to the Turian and nodded. "Should we kill the others' weapons?"

 _"No need."_ The Centurion replied after moments' thought. _"The others will likely be equally and appropriately armed with either the same equipment, or perhaps even better. Unless one of them loses a weapon in a firefight, none will collect a fallen weapon if their hands are already full. Besides, those rifles are_ s'kak _."_

Sam looked at one of the rifles in question, and saw it to be an Umarex Arsenal Force Assault Rifle. Umarex Arsenal was a Batarian-created, owned, directed, and distributed weapon a part of the Batarian State Arms weapons conglomerate that fed cheap weapons on the black market that were obviously poorly-constructed knock-offs of popular weapons. The Force Assault Rifle was supposed to resemble the Elanus Risk Control Services M15 Vindicator Battle Rifle... if one didn't look too closely at it. Batarian weapons manufactures like Umarex and Khalishan Armaments had their products seeded throughout the galaxy, putting weapons in the hands of anyone who wanted a cheap weapon bought through arms dealers and gun smugglers, often without regulatory software inclusions and governors emplaced in such weapons. Sam had heard horror stories of someone buying such a weapon and attempting to mod it to maximize firepower only for the weapon to backfire and explode on the user, usually maiming them. Kryik was right; they were shit weapons. _"We move on."_ Collins nodded as the Turian stalked forward, his weapon scanning as she followed him at a proper distance, threading through the cargo containers and visually checking each for any missing hostiles while the surveillance drone Kryik had released flew overhead.

They reached the end of the storage garage, finding the access door that would lead to the rest of the facility, thankfully still closed and unguarded. Sam had been expecting a few men holding positions by the door, but it looked like whoever controlled the rest of the base hadn't sent men to investigate, was unaware of what had happened, or had decided to fortify positions deeper in the pre-fab colony building. The Deputy figured the last option was the most likely one; it seemed the smarter option for the slavers. With only seven down, they had no idea what could be on the other side of the door, or how many would possibly be guarding it. If they had access to the ExtraNet, Sam could look up the model and schematics for the pre-fab to at least get an idea of the amount of rooms and corridors it would contain, giving them a map. Actually...

"You wouldn't happen to have any kind of ExtraNet capabilities or li-fi connections, would you?" Collins asked her Turian counterpart, looking to where he crouched behind a piece of cover, which happened to be a medium-sized containment pod. "If you do, I can look up the schematics of this model of this pre-fab colony starter kit. It'll give us a map and an idea of the amount of rooms and the kind of chokepoints we'll be facing."

 _"Well... we happen to be in luck."_ The Turian replied, tapping out a few commands on his red-colored Omnitool. _"I'll let you slave off my connection while I keep guard. No doubt you'll be better at finding such things than I."_ That sounded like a compliment, so Sam took it as is as she opened up her own Omnitool and found that she had connectivity. She wasn't sure how that was possible in an undeveloped system like Thermopile, but she wasn't about to ask. She figured that, at best, the Blackwatch Operative's ship had a dedicated channel that would guarantee connections to Hierarchy channels in case he was in need of assistance, or on the chance he did need to look something up. Regardless, Collins had what she needed, and an idea on how to help them. She would take any assistance she could get in the endeavor and worry about the semantics later. The Deputy opened up a common search engine page off of a popular Volus search engine, and looked up the line of Elkoss Combine's colony pre-fab starter kits. She came up with the company's product page and listings of what they had to offer, and Sam quickly scrolled through the page until she found one that looked pretty damn similar. Dimensions, capabilities, sustainability, environment... yes, that was the one in question; an Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700. Collins found a helpful link that showed not only the products capabilities ('able to feed a thousand for upwards to a decade on hydroponics alone!'), but also the schematics as well. The pre-fab was multi-storied and multi-tiered, with what looked to be two meter by two meter habitation rooms meant for small families through the many corridors in the habitation wing, while larger rooms were listed for their uses; hydroponics, atmospherics, reactor room, and the like.

Four floors at four hundred fifty meters by four hundred fifty meters. That was... Christ! Two hundred and two thousand, five hundred square meters! Per floor!

 _Just how the fuck are we suppose to clear all this?_ Collins thought to herself with worry as she looked up from her Omnitool and towards Kryik.

"Centurion," Sam began, her voice a little uncertain, "I've pulled up the schematics of this place. It's over two hundred _thousand_ square meters as a floor plan, and there are four levels. We're literally looking at trying to clear a million square meters of real estate with just the two of us." God in Heaven, and she had almost walked into this place by _herself?_ She remembered what Marshal Weathers had told her, to get on the horn if she found what she was looking for. Undoubtedly, that would have been a call for reinforcements that would have never arrived, not to mention probably pinpointing her location to the slavers when she did so. She was grateful for Centurion Kryik's presence, but this was asking for a good deal more than she was prepared to deal with. She only had one spare rifle-oriented ammo block for her Lawbringer, which would give her approximately two hundred and fourteen rounds after her loaded one was expended, and two spare pistol-oriented ammo blocks for her Glock, giving her another one hundred and fifty shots all together. That gave her... about six hundred and fifty shots all told. There was no way she could predict how many shots she would need to take an assailant down, depending on their skill and training, cover, quality of equipment... and not to mention how many assailants there were at any singular time. Collins remembered one of her Academy Instructors at the Marshal's Academy mention just how fast one can burn through ammo blocks in even a small-scaled engagement. This was anything but small-scaled. "I don't think I have nearly enough ammo for this. Or training, for that matter." That was painful to admit, but it was honest. While she didn't want to die, she also didn't want the slavers to get away with what they were doing. All she had to do was think back to that cargo container room on the _Kolwoon_ -Class Transportation vessel to remember why she was in the building at all. She wasn't a coward, but she wasn't stupid, either. "What do you suggest?"

 _"Obviously, we want to stop the slavers, but you're suggesting something other than a frontal assault against an unknown quantity of assailants in a building too large to clear and contain by just the two of us."_ The Turian clarified, musing out loud. The Deputy nodded her helmeted head, happy that the Special Forces Warrior wasn't going to look down upon her for admitting her weaknesses and inexperience. _"Something like this... I've done on a numerous occasions, Deputy. I understand that you are intimidated by the task, and wish to address how best to do it."_

"Yes."

 _"Would it help to let you know that I'm not all that I appear to be?"_

That had the Deputy pause for a moment, letting those words sink in. Her first thought was that this Turian wasn't a Blackwatch member, but something more sinister. Mercenary? Competition for this group of slavers? Perhaps a hit man of sorts sent to rectify a situation that involved this group? None were comforting thoughts. Now that she thought about it, Kryik had never mentioned whom he had worked for, only giving her a rank and a name that she couldn't verify. He was certainly armed with high-grade weaponry, some of it quite illegal. His armor and drones suggested him having the ability to afford it, or at least for his employer to give him such expensive supplies. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she had her 2169 Lawbringer orienting a little more towards the Turian's direction. Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?

 _"Samantha, I'm with the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."_

"Wai... _what_?" Had she heard that right? Of course she knew what _Special Tactics and Reconnaissance_ meant; a SPECTRE, a Council Agent who operated with extralegal authority throughout Council Space... and beyond. There were something resembling cops, Special Forces, intelligence operatives, and tactical precision assault specialists. When governments and posturing failed... the SPECTREs were called in. They were the answer to when more than a threat was needed, but less than an invasion or an army was required. Simply put, when there was a problem, they were the ones sent to solve it. "H-how did you know my name?" The Deputy asked weakly, realizing that the Turian had called her by her first name, something she hadn't offered him. Kryik... was a SPECTRE? One of the most elite operatives in Council Space, possibly the entirety of the Milky Way galaxy? Was he here because of the slaver ring she had unwittingly discovered?

 _"I didn't come here for slavers or smugglers."_ The Turian replied as he kept his eyes on the access for, his Vapor Assault Rifle ready to engage anything that might come through the door. _"I came here for you."_

Deputy Samantha Collins just looked at her companion with a mixture of shock and bewilderment. A SPECTRE was here... for her? A mere rookie human Deputy off on the ass-end of Earth Alliance Space? Why the hell would an elite operative in one of the most prestigious branches of the entire galaxy come for her? There had to be hundreds of thousands of cops throughout the Systems Alliance and its respective worlds and holdings, if not millions. Why her? What made her different? What made this Turian SPECTRE come all the way from the Citadel, some eight and a quarter kilo Parsecs away, incurring whatever costs of Jumping and supplies that would entail, for some rookie cop? She obviously wasn't in any trouble or had done anything wrong, considering they were working together and the Agent had identified himself to her. So if she hadn't done anything wrong to garner the attention of a SPECTRE... then she must have done something right, something... different. Something that would make a SPECTRE take notice. Nothing really came to mind, except...

"Is it because I found this ship?" Collins asked, working it out in her mind, figuring out the only thing that might be odd. Marshal Weathers had mentioned the unusualness of her method of looking for a ship using Relay data. Hadn't Kryik also mentioned earlier about how she had located the ship? Now that she thought about it, he hadn't mentioned anything about the group they were assaulting. He had come to Revan for her, probably because that was where she was at at the time. If she had been on Therum, he would have gone there instead.

 _"Our monitoring equipment noticed someone accessing Relay data a couple of weeks ago at the Office of Special Tactics."_ The Turian replied, still looking at the access way while talking to her. _"While it isn't illegal, the few that ever do so is to turn a Relay on, off, or are otherwise up to something less-than-pleasant. When we pinged the access user and found it to be a human on Therum, we... may have hacked your office's servers to investigate just_ why _you were so interested in Relay data, accessing it every day. One of our software-oriented data miners read through your files and notes and was utterly mystified at your conclusions on how you were matching exact ships to Jump timestamps. All we knew for sure was that you were... quite accurate. In fact, you hadn't made a mistake out of a hundred matches that we could confirm."_

"That's... unusual?" Collins asked, frowning. She wasn't exactly thrilled that someone had hacked into her terminal, but she hadn't done anything illegal on it. It sounded like they were more looking through it than trying to load malware or steal anything. It still didn't sit well with her.

 _"Extremely, as I understand it."_ The Turian replied. _"Most involved in space travel recognize ships through thermal recognition on radar and Ladar signatures, usually within an Astronomical Unit in distance."_ The SPECTRE went silent for a moment. _"You were recognizing ships from your Relay, hundreds of AU's away, and were able to do so with a singular ship through corresponding data both current and the past. No one's been able to do it. We usually match ships through vessel registry through its corresponding governments and IFF signatures, which both can be changed if one were knowledgeable of such things. Deputy, you may have found a way that every military, law enforcement agency, and customs house has been trying and failing to do since the inception of the Citadel twenty-six hundred years ago. And we have no idea how."_

Collins didn't know what to say. Or to think.

 _This was about Relay data, and my ability to make sense of it?_ The Deputy thought to herself, perplexed. She hadn't known that no one else wasn't using her method; she had just done it because it had made sense that everyone used Jump Relays to travel at hyperlumnial speeds, and a ship would be of a certain dimension, weight, size, mass, as well as other marginal identification markers that would make a particular ship unique despite a run of mass-produced vessels. She had actually tracked several vessels that seemingly visited the Artemis Tau Cluster with a standard frequency, but the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel she had tracked had caught her attention due to its discrepancies from its Customs Declaration Log and what she was able to glean from the Relay's data. No one else did that? Not only that... it sounded like the Office of Special Tactics had tried her method and couldn't replicate it.

 _Oh shit, I'm the only person in the whole damn galaxy that can?_

That's why they sent a SPECTRE to retrieve her.

 _Kryik... doesn't even care about these slavers. Or these slaves._ Despite his original explanation that he had come to Revan for the group, the Deputy realized he was on the toxic soup world because that was where she happened to be. Their whole visit, he had been listening to her, taking her advice, letting her use her ideas... _evaluating_ her? Seeing if she was the real deal or just a one-trick pony? He had praised her for any kind of investigative skills that she showed, and he had taken some of her ideas and putting them to use, admitting that he didn't use her methodologies. He had even expressed on boarding _Kolwoon_ -Class vessels by cutting through the hull as oppose to using the secondary access hatch on the forward compartment because he never thought to look up the schematics of a vessel to look for alternative access points, just making one. She had the idea that he was impressed with her innovations and cleverness, making up for her inexperience and lack-of-specialized training. But she was in a situation in which she was well over her head.

"So... I'm more important than those slaves?" Sam asked, her tone hurt by the thought. Jesus, there were _babies_ in that cargo container, and perhaps more in the other containers! Lord knew if there were more in the colony pre-fab building.

 _"In a word? Yes."_ The Turian replied, his tone... neutral. He looked at her with his darkened visor, studying her. _"I understand that is probably something you don't like hearing, but it is the truth. Even if you're right only half the time, you can crush operations like this in ways we can only begin to dream about, putting a stranglehold on piracy, slavery, terrorism, black market transportations, weapons smuggling, organ harvesting... you name it. Deputy, you are possibly the biggest single threat to criminality since the invention of the prison cell. You can crush crime syndicates and illegal empires just by identifying ships that are used in those endeavors. Take away their ability to hide... and they'll have nowhere to hide."_ That information slowly sunk into her mind, making Collins slowly nod. Innocent life was important, but there had been many times throughout human history when something was deemed more important than just a singular man, or even a group.

She thought about the old Enigma encryption machines back in World War II, a device that the Germans used to encode their messages so they could communicate without fear of espionage or decoding. Missions and operations had been planned and executed by the British and the Americans to capture not only the devices, but the decryption codes, deemed more important than the men sent to capture it. When they had, it had literally turned the tides of the Atlantic War overnight, and at a complete one-eighty at that. Dozens of lives lost... to save literally tens of not hundreds of thousands of lives, not to mention ships, cargo, hope... It had been worth the price of blood and the cost of lives to ensure success against tyranny and fear. Was she the same as that Enigma machine? Able to decrypt something that no one else could? Was that worth the price of dozens, if not hundreds, of innocent lives? It was a price to be paid, but at the reward of possibly preventing it from happening in the future. The severe handicap of slavers unable to operate in the black if their vessels were tracked and logged, stopped at any Council-approved port, severely limiting their access and ability to dock. No more corrupt cops like Marshal Weathers able to take bribes to look in the other direction if the vessel was tagged for impound, law enforcement agents on the job as Port Authority seized such vessels and apprehended the crew. Piracy, smuggling, terrorist networks... could she potentially be the blow that crippled such endeavors? What would that be worth? What would the Citadel do in order to secure someone such as herself? What would a criminal empire do to prevent such an effort if they knew?

"I... I couldn't look myself in the mirror if I walked away knowing what was going on here, if I knew what they were doing." Collins finally replied, looking at the Turian Commando. "This is evil, plain and simple. And I am a cop. It's my job and duty to uphold the law. We need to stop them by any means necessary, Kryik."

 _"I understand."_ The SPECTRE replied, nodding his helmeted head. _"Would you have any issues with... outside assistance?"_

"Hierarchy forces?" Sam didn't think that would be likely, knowing what she knew now. God... had she really been this naive? She had been working alongside a _SPECTRE_ for the better part of two hours without a clue. Any human being that would look at her would be lambasting her for working with an alien, and screaming for her head for working willingly with a Turian. A Turian SPECTRE? She didn't doubt somebody would find an excuse to throw her in a hole and throw away the hole. Kryik was the same kind of warrior that brought so much misery and woe to Shanxi, and here she was, willingly following in his talonsteps. Was she a fool, or... something else?

 _"No. Not Hierarchy forces."_ The Turian replied, queuing up his Omnitool. _"You found this location based upon your investigation, so it's your call. If we move forward, we'll need reinforcements. I'm not endangering you over what you correctly identified with your lack of training and experience in such exercises as this. If you walk away, I won't hold it against you for the same reasons you mentioned. There's no need to recklessly risk yourself trying to bring down two-bit 'gangers and slavers when you have the capability of tracking their vessel to a location that won't be such a defensive posture, where they won't be so ready. I'll leave the choice to you, Deputy. We wouldn't be here if it was for you, and I got the confirmation I needed to see if your skills are legitimate."_

"What... what would we be talking about? More SPECTREs?" Sam did her best not to gulp at that. Despite the fact that there was a full-fledged SPECTRE right in front of her, multiple Council Agents meant multiple aliens, highly trained ones at that. While she didn't have any doubt who would win in a scenario if it came to a fight between Kryik and herself, at least the one-on-one interaction meant it was easier to keep things civil and equal. The thought of several strange beings running about with questionable loyalties and viewpoints would be harder to keep track of, not to mention being walked all over by figures of much higher authority than she could deal with. The last thing she wanted was some human-hating racist Turian SPECTRE pushing her around and acting like a rooster in a hen house. "Will they at least be... professionals? Like you?" She hoped that would get the point across.

 _"Yes."_ The Turian replied, nodding his head. _"I've worked with them on any number of operations and situations. We actually work as a team, a group of partners, if you will. One is an Asari Huntress, and the other a Salarian STG Operative. Between then four of us,"_ Sam noted that he was including her into the team, _"we can have a much higher degree of success against this operation. We as a SPECTRE Reconnaissance Team actually complement each other with our various strengths and techniques. I'll easily admit that I'm actually pretty much limited only to assault tactics and various military tools. My associates will bring a new level of abilities and techniques to our advantage."_

"How soon can they be here?" The Deputy asked, looking at the radar display on her Omnitool, linked to the sensor on Kryik's weapon. Already there showed to be a few quick red blips that came and went. Someone was getting curious as to what was going on in their storage garage.

 _"Thirty minutes or less. They're actually in our ship waiting, and have been monitoring our progress."_

"Oh." Well, shit. It made sense, though; SPECTREs working alone was probably some hyped-up reputation thing to make them sound tougher. A team of them sound perfect... and complete overkill. Well, they could use some overkill. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hogging all the fun, Kryik?"

 _"It's Nihlus, actually. Nihlus Kryik."_ The SPECTRE replied, looking at her for a moment. _"And I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you about whom or what I was, but SPECTREs maintain cover for a variety of reasons, Deputy."_

"I understand." Every law enforcement agent understood the dangers that criminals could bring, especially with vindictive retribution. Undercover agents had it even worse. "And call me Sam."

 _"Sam it is."_ The Turian nodded in reply. _"And for what it's worth? I'm glad you picked this option, despite your reservations about your training and abilities. You've got the spirit of a cop, no worries there. We'll make sure you make it the rest of the way."_

* * *

Author's Note: Someone commented about the size of the Colony Starter Kit Pre-Fab being the size of about a full-scale mall. Honestly... that's kind of what I had in mind; this place is meant to support a population of thousands and thousands while terraforming and planetary exploitation occurs. When you talk supplies, hydroponics, living spaces, power source, landing areas, maintenance bays, garages, some place to keep the people entertained without killing one another... that takes space. We're not talking Mark Watney accommodations.


	6. Revan, VI

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare…_

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Strike Huntress Tela Vasir moved through the opened access way of the Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700, followed closely by STG Infiltration Technician Jondum Bau, the Salarian cradling his Ariake Technologies' M-90 Indra Automatic Sniper Assault Rifle in his three-fingered hands. The Asari Huntress had her Armali Council Disciple Offensive Shotgun in her own hands, sweeping the immediate area for any signs of life, her weapon's heartbeat sensor sweeping in the same direction in a thirty degree arc of the weapons' barrel for any signs of biological markers. The projected semi-translucent holographic screen on the HUD of her helmet showed no monitored signs of life as she did so, the Asari moving forward to the nearest spot of cover as the Salarian Operative did the same on the opposite side of the avenue of approach towards the main access way to the colony pre-fab. She looked over to the STG Infiltrator and gave a quick nod of her head as she stood overwatch from a position of cover as Jondum moved towards the door and accessed its operations panel, sealing it shut first before putting a small disc-like device onto the panel. The disc was an encryption device with a mutating algorithm with polyhedral sequencing based upon fracturals that scrambled codes once ever fifteen seconds, effectively locking the door with a password that was almost impossible to crack. The task done, Bau moved forward back into cover, his Indra still in his hands.

"Nihlus, this is Tela." The Asari Strike Huntress communicated over their dedicated channel, encrypted with a frequency hop algorithm that covered a band of frequencies at several hundred a second, based upon an alpha timestamp that gained access if one were to know the timestamp and have the necessary protocol loaded into one's Omnitool to listen in. To anyone that was trying, all they would hear would be harsh static. "Jondum and I are inside the facility. We are moving towards your position at this time." There was a waypoint marked on her HUD indicating Centurion Nihlus Kryik's position, along with distance and a basic vital signs indication. A secondary marker had been added to indicate the Human he was suppose to come into contact with, her equipment sadly so primitive that she was unable to accept almost any of the beneficiary programs they used for the team in such situations, the processing speeds and drivers so backwards that the Human would literally just need new equipment as oppose to bothering trying to install some sort of ad-hoc secondaries onto any of her equipment. As she understood it, the Human Maiden was wearing some cheap Devlon Industries Light Explorer Armor, an AppleCorp iTool that was approximately fifty years behind the current curve of standard issued Omnitools, and a weapon that was literally meant to be non-lethal. That had the Asari unimpressed. Yet she had listened to the Maiden talk between herself and the Turian Commando, and Vasir had to admit that the Human had a brain and knew how to use it. She might not be SPECTRE material, but she would do well in C-Sec, possibly even in the Rapid Response Unit or the C-Sec UC's. Tela moved forward, Disciple leading the way as she checked avenues of approach and corners through the clutter of containers that were haphazardly placed throughout the storage garage. Sloppy... but effective, the Asari admitted. She walked by two Batarians that were seemingly unconscious according to her weapons' sensor, as well as manacled, their hands locked together behind their backs. That was the Human's doing. Interesting work

Up ahead, the Huntress heard the telltale signs of gunfire, and a good deal of it.

 _"The pushes are coming in faster now."_ Nihlus informed her over their communicator, the sounds of battle growing louder and fiercer as Tela moved closer to its source. The slavers had been trying to dislodge Kryik and the Human Maiden for the past five or so minutes, held back by the chokepoint that the access door made and the cover that the Turian Commando and Human Deputy were using. _"We're holding steady, but we're not able to push in any further either. Approximately a dozen on the other side, with perhaps three or four down due to wounds or... armor lockdown."_ That would be the Maiden's unusual weapon, meant to incapacitate. It seemed silly to carry, but as she understood it, Human cops generally didn't carry lethal munitions of the heavier variety, such as assault rifles, sniper rifles, or shotguns. She had a machine pistol at best for self-defense.

 _"Got another one."_ That was the Maiden's voice, Deputy Samantha Collins. Well, at least she knew how to use a gun. _"Three more are trying to push through."_ The translated Asari that was coming through her communicator from the Human's words made her Thessian sound uneducated and rather butchered. _"Kryik! That one has a rocket launcher!"_

 _"I see him."_ The Turian replied as the sound of his Vapor Assault Rifle opened up through her helmet's speakers, thankfully toned down by her VI's sound-dampening program to save her hearing. _"_ S'kak! _He's under good cover, and the others are providing an effective covering fire."_

 _"Eyes closed!"_ The Human returned as Tela moved forward closer to their position, only ten or so meters away when a great flash of light burst forth somewhere in front of her, almost blinding her if she hadn't been behind a cargo container that blocked the seemingly intense flash of illumination. She hadn't heard any sound accompany the blinding flash, so it wasn't from munitions. _"Gunmen are blinded!"_ There was a staccato pulse of rifle fire from two different sources coming over the communicator that lasted about three seconds before it bled away. _"Nihlus! Incoming!"_ A few seconds later, there was a muffled explosion as Vasir took cover behind a cargo container that was blocking the way just before reaching the SPECTRE and the Deputy's position, readying herself to assault forward as she looked back to Jondum's helmeted head. He nodded once, his bulbous helmet indicating he was ready as he shouldered his automatic M-90 Indra Sniper Assault Rifle, readying himself. The Strike Huntress readied her Disciple Offensive Shotgun as she took a deep breath, focused her mind, and let biokinetic energy dance through her nervous system, regulated by the BioAmp connected to lobe just under her right ear hole to create a barrier of biokinetic energy created by her Biotics, providing both herself and Bau an extra measure of protection on top of their kinetic shields and high-grade armor.

"Forward!" Tela Vasir announced as she rounded the corner of the container and stalked forward at a double-pace, her Disciple sweeping a broad arc quickly before orienting itself towards the main threat, the access way between storage garage and the complex as she moved towards a spot of cover near the Human Maiden while Jondum Bau peeled away and moved towards Nihlus Kryik. Her eyes noted a large scorch mark that was usually a clear indication of explosive munitions use near the positions, someone having used a grenade against the Turian and Human. Both looked to be in good health as Tela slid into cover a meter or so from the Human Maiden, who had her rifle held over the cover, keeping the majority of her body behind the alumnisteel body of the small cargo box that she was using as a defensive position. Lacking any kind of optical capabilities on her weapon, the Human had to make do by sticking as much as her visor over the lip of the container to be able to keep a visual on any assailants while keeping her profile as low as possible. Unfortunately, that meant half of her helmeted head was exposed to gunfire. Had Humanity not invented the vid camera yet?

This Maiden had best be worth it.

Vasir stuck her Disciple over the lip of her cover, scanning the doorway with the use of her optical sight that fed to her helmet to see three more assailants barreling through the door, trying to assault through the fatal funnel of the door to engage the SPECTRE team and find cover, only to come under immediate fire from Nihlus Kryik and Deputy Samantha Collins. One of the assailants, a Turian in Hierarchy-issued Voltanus Designs' Tactical Responder Heavy Armor, was hit three times in rapid succession by the Human and her non-lethal weapon. To Tela's surprise, the Turian froze up and fell over like a statue, unable to move. That was certainly impressive; Tactical Responder Armor was made to take punishment with its high-capacity kinetic shields and Iridium-matrixed steel armored plates. The Asari doubted she could have taken down one with three well-aimed shots with her Disciple, and yet this Human with her practically backwards gun was able to do so. Well, she had mentioned that it fired a phasic round that not only bypassed kinetic shields, but dealt electrical damage to the sensitive electronic components of the armor, seizing the VI and causing it to malfunction, further disabling the armor's servos and actuators that aided its wearer for ease-of-movement. Now said Turian was lying prone on the ground, obviously unable to move, trapped in his own armor. It was... rather comical, actually. Another of the assailants was quickly riddled with rounds coming from Kryik's Vapor Heavy Assault Rifle, the rounds easily shattering through the kinetic shields and piercing through the armor of the Batarian that he was firing at, the Khar'shanian quickly jerking and falling to the floor bonelessly. The last one, another Batarian, found out just how effective Jondum Bau was with his automatic sniper rifle as a torrent of well-aimed, highly-accurate rounds struck right into the center part of his helmet, his shields quickly overtaxed from the Joules of force impacting against it, and the helmet itself giving way less than a second later. The Batarian slumped over, dead, the back of his helmet blown out.

 _"Clear... for the moment."_ Deputy Collins announced as she opened up her weapon's bottom port and pulled out from a pouch on her Explorer armor a kilogram ammo block, seemingly of the Human variety; NiFe Mu-Metal ammo blocks. _"Down to my last rifle block. Two hundred plus shots."_ Vasir grimaced at that; obviously, the Maiden hadn't come quite as prepared as they. She had to remember that Deputy Collins was just a primitive cop on some far-flung barbaric world for her hardly-evolved race. She was beginning to wonder how they ever achieved spaceflight on their own. The Human slapped the ammo block into the receiver, and then her helmeted head turned to look at Tela for a moment, her brownish eyes studying her for a moment. _"Soooo... hi. I'm Sam."_ The Maiden twisted slightly to extend her left hand out towards the Asari. Tela looked at it for a moment. _"We, uh, shake hands as a form of greeting."_

"Of course." The SPECTRE replied dryly as she reached over as well, grabbed the Deputy's left wrist, and proceeded to shake her hand up and down like a fish flopping out of water.

 _"No! Not like that!"_ The Maiden chuckled as she talked as she slid her hand _into_ Tela's, slightly squeezing her fingers around her palm and then bobbed both of their hands up and down twice. _"Sorry I don't know any of your customs. I've... never met an Asari before."_

"Well, you are in the attempt towards understanding." Vasir allowed, getting the Maiden to cock her head slightly to one side, almost like Batarians did out of respect or disrespect. "Why do you tilt your head at me, Maiden?"

 _"I... ah, think my Omnitool might need an upgrade."_ The Human turned over to look towards Nihlus. _"I can't understand a word she's saying."_ Oh, so the tilting of the head to one side meant confusion among Humans, not disrespect. Tela sighed as she accessed her Omnitool and went into her language program folder, and selected through several before she found one that was dedicated to what was known as Standard Alliance English. If the Maiden lacked Asari language protocols, then Tela was going to have to force her own programs to translate her words for her, as oppose to letting the user's programs translate it for them. It meant that she was going to be talking in SAE to Nihlus and Jondum as well, but at least they had the translation software to at least convert it into Common Cipritine (in Nihlus's case) and LogLan (in Jondum's case).

"Will mine wordings suffice for thee, Maiden of Earth?" The SPECTRE trying again, hearing the Earth pattern speech being translated from her native Thessian. Much to her surprise, the Human female threw her head back and laughed. Loudly.

 _"Oh dear God, I stepped into a Shakespearian play!"_

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins stood by the wall next to the access way that led deeper into the colony pre-fab building, with Nihlus Kryik and Jondum Bau to one side of the doorway, and herself and Tela Vasir on the other. After she had downloaded her library of Standard Alliance English to Hierarchy Common Cipritine to Jondum and Tela's Omnitools (she hadn't understood the Salarian, either), they had waited a few moments for their Omnitools to process and translate the basic translation software to their own native languages once their VIOS logic processors matched their translated software programs of Hierarchy Common Cipritine and matched the linguistics between SAE and their own languages. Like most translated languages, there were a few flaws, but after five minutes of waiting and a few simple tests (Jondum had been amused with 'The Quick Brown Fox Jumped Over The Lazy Dog' test), they made their introductions with one another before formulating a plan on how to pacify the slavers that had stopped coming to dig them out of their defensive position. Now it was their turn to chance fate.

"All the cannon-fodder must be dead or incapacitated by now." Collins commented as she stood nearest the door, readying her Omnitool. The plan was to breach the access way and head into the next room, which was described in the schematics as a small maintenance bay that measured only fifty square meters. Not too big for four people to clear out. Of course, they weren't actually sure what was in the maintenance shop itself; it could just be tools lining the walls, it could be drones or defensive mechs. She looked down at her 'Flash' program and saw that it was fully charged and ready to be implemented. Twenty-three slavers were decorating around the access way, dead or apprehended after Collins secured their wrists with flash-made manacles. She had also picked up one slaver's assault rifle as well as his spare ammo blocks once she discovered that it would fit both the Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms' ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle and her Nexus' 2169 Lawbringer. She had the Modulus set to three-round burst, pleased with the holographic combat sight meant for quick-acquisition aiming, as well as the taclight attached under the barrel. The Modulus line was made for adaptability and modification, coming with a whole slue of accessories for purchase and attachment. For now, she was just happy that she had four spare ammo blocks, with two fresh blocks in both her Lawbringer and her Modulus. It was a bit heavier and longer than what she was use to using, but it was a weapon meant for engagements and battle, as oppose to enforcement and pacification, like the Lawbringer. The Lawbringer was now magnetically connected to her back for storage and easy reach if she were to need it, while the Nexus Modulus was in her hands, ready.

 _"Drone out and scanning."_ Bau called out over the transmitter, releasing a tennis ball-sized silver orb that fell to the ground. The Salarian then went to his Omnitool and began working what appeared to be a joystick, making the orb roll forward silently as it scooted from the storage garage and into the maintenance shop. _"Sensors and visuals active, acquiring layout and biometric signatures."_

"Where can I get my BB-8 astromech at?" Sam asked Tela, turning to the armored Asari, her full face visor blackened, like Nihlus'. While she couldn't see the Huntress' face, she could hear the Asari snort out loud.

 _"When you grow up, Maiden."_ The Thessian replied, though her tone indicated that it wasn't an insult, just ribbing. Tela, Sam found out, was a two hundred year old Maiden with a wicked sense of humor and an adventurous spirit. The Deputy found herself quickly liking Tela Vasir. In Asari reckoning, she was only a few years older than herself, having served in what was the Thessian version of a Marine Scout Sniper, as Sam understood it. She had been picked up by the Office of Special Tactics a few years before based upon her efforts to taken down some company that was selling poisoned Eezo to ships, reaping the benefits through ship maintenance companies, tripping over the information somehow. The Asari responsible had found themselves dead through the use of biokinetic force and well-aimed shots to the crests. Asari language seemed to be very polished and refined, much like British people, Sam noted.

 _"Targets acquired."_ Jondum Bau spoke softly. Jondum struck Collins as the consummate professional; mission-oriented and with little in the way of humor or distraction. He had identified himself as an operative of the Salarian Union Special Tasks Group, a shadowy extralegal organization that supposedly spied on anybody and everybody. As Sam understood it, Bau was an Infiltration Technician, more use to hacking and corrupting software suites and defense programs than actually going out onto the field and going after a physical target. Underestimating him as a physical force seemed like a dumb thing to do, considering he was armed with a fully automatic sniper rifle, and his armor had a variety of devices and attachments upon it for a variety of situations. She had been shocked to see that the Salarian seriously had what looked to be a pair of mechanical spider legs coming from his back, meant to attach and maneuver upon walls and ceilings if needed. Jondum, simply put, was the Salarian version of fucking Batman. _"Six operatives, with medium-level armor and light assault weaponry. No explosives detected."_ Bau was also a little hard to understand, speaking very fast, something at like two hundred and forty words a minute, at least. Salarians were supposedly like that. _"End of room, distance forty meters. Moderate amount of cover, steel tables and mechanical apparatuses. Limited amount of cover on our end."_

"Flash them?" Sam asked Nihlus, who had seen the law enforcement-oriented program used twice already, unlike his SPECTRE compatriots.

 _"Flash them."_ Kryik agreed, nodding his fringed helmet. _"Three seconds."_ The Deputy nodded as the others readied to assault the room while she stuck her left arm past the door and into the maintenance bay, hoping that she wouldn't get her hand or arm shot off before activating her Omnitool program labeled 'Flash'.

The maintenance bay was flooded with a bright, blinding flash set at a million candlepower.

 _"Go! Go, go, go!"_ The Blackwatch Commando shouted as he was the first through the door, followed closely by Deputy Sam Collins, then Operative Jondum Bau, and finally Strike Huntress Tela Vasir. Sam skittered past the Turian as he set in the first position just past the door and one step in to gain a beachhead inside the room while giving access to those behind him. Collins ran two steps past Nihlus Kryik as she took a pivoting step to the right, a meter to Kryik's left as her ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle pointed down the length of the maintenance bay, feeling more than hearing Jondum Bau and Tela Vasir run immediately behind her as the Salarian and Asari set themselves in their positions to her left, making a line approximately six meters wide, with all of them facing in the same direction, their weapons trained upon the assailants that were at the opposite end of the fifty meter room. The six slavers were a variety of species; Batarian and Turian mostly, with one Krogan in the middle. Tela called out her position and readiness, the cue to start the attack as four separate weapons began firing down the maintenance bay. The six slavers had been previously blinded by Collins' use of her 'Flash' program, simulating the illumination portion of a flash bang that forwent the deafening sound that the old military grenade produced. It was obvious that the assailants were suffering from temporary blindness as they shook their heads and waved their hands in front of their faces to check the quality of their vision.

It cost them precious seconds, and any advantage that they might have had in the ensuing firefight.

Deputy Sam Collins sighted upon a Turian in what appeared to be Aldrin Labs' Agent Armor, popular among Palavenians as she understood it, and the normally issued armor of the Citadel Security Services. She pressed the button-like trigger of her ECS-10 Modulus three times, letting loose a triple three-round burst from her Nexus-made weapon. She figured nine rounds would do the trick as she pressed the button the second time as the first salvo impacted against the Turian's kinetic shields, striking against the ionization field that solidified whenever impacted against forces of a certain velocity and Joules. The sight of the Turian grew fuzzy as the ionization field solidified to protect its user, draining its capacitors as the second set of rounds struck against the congealed molecules of energized air meant to defend against impact of rounds. The second set of three shots struck against the shields, draining the capacitors' ability to ionize the air molecules as the congealed barrier of air shattered as the last round punctured through it and struck the Turian against his chestplate. The last set of three rounds, unimpeded by any form of shields, smashed their way into the ablative plating of the Aldrin Labs' Agent Armor, the weave meant to give with a certain amount of pressure to prevent penetration, much like Kevlar had done with its inception on Earth. Unfortunately, the first round had struck through the protective plate, severely reducing its effectiveness as the next trio of rounds struck against it. The first round shot straight into the plate, and almost completely penetrated it, cracking the plate with a maze of spiderwebs as the structural integrity of the chestpiece was almost completely compromised.

The next two rounds pierced plate and hide, penetrating Palavenian flesh.

Sam watched as the Turian went down, bluish blood spraying from his compromised armor as the slaver went down in a crumpled heap behind an overturned steel table meant to provide cover from weapons fire. She... had killed somebody. She hadn't killed anybody before, and the thought distracted her for a moment.

 _"_ Shalis _! He's bloodraging!"_

The words ripped Sam's attention from the Turian she had just shot and killed to the barreling form of what appeared to be an almost three meter tall Krogan running at full-speed right towards them. The Deputy saw that the Krogan had its head lowered, its thick headplate bouncing rounds from the SPECTRE's weapons as it sprinted right towards them at a speed that seemingly matched that of a jaguar or a cheetah. In a fifty meter long room, the Krogan would be on top of them in mere seconds as Collins aimed and fired not at the raging alien's armored skull, but at its pumping legs. She fired off three quick bursts before it reached them, watching orangish blood bursting from its left thigh and right knee as the Krogan screamed as it lost its footing and toppled to the floor, crashing almost right towards Sam. The Deputy almost got ran over as the Krogan skidded to a stop less than a meter away from her.

Then a meaty three-fingered hand gripped her left ankle in a crushing hold, and pulled her off her feet.

"Aw-fuck!" Sam felt the ground slamming into her back and her stored Lawbringer, making her cough on reflex as she looked up to see the humongous Tuchankan looking at her with blood-red eyes of burning hatred as its reptilian face bored down at her as it yanked her towards itself. The SPECTREs were putting rounds into the Krogan's torso to put it down, but to no apparent avail. The Tuchankan dragged her towards itself as its wide maw opened, a great gaping cavity filled with many, many sharp teeth that looked too much like a shark's mouth that could bite her in half. Sam screamed out of terror as her left hand went to the hilt of her SAMC-issued KA-BAR, yanked it out of its magnetic sheath, and stabbed it upward with all of her might and terror into the soft palate of the roof of the Krogan's mouth.

The Krogan shuddered once, and slowly slumped over to the right, toppling over.

Sam looked at the monstrous creature lying next to her, still facing her, its wide-set eyes open but still. Her breaths were coming in fast and hard as cold sweat popped all over her flesh, the near brush of being bitten by something that probably outweighed her five times over coming to full realization. She could see the brown hilt of the KA-BAR sticking out of the Tuchankan's mouth, buried to the hilt guard, the nine-inch blade obviously having pierced the palate and having struck something vital in the Krogan's brain, killing it. Sam scooted away slowly, hit the release button on her helmet, pulling it off as she flipped over onto her hands and knees and threw up sore bile on the floor in front of her. The rush of adrenaline that had hit her before was wearing off now that her life was no longer in danger, and she felt cold and as weak as a kitten, her limbs quaking as she felt nauseated again. She tried retching up once more, but came up empty, dry heaving hard enough that it hurt her ribs and sides.

"Did that... seriously just fucking happen?" Sam asked no one in particular as she rotated herself to where she was sitting down, her back leaning against the back wall of the maintenance bay, wisely avoiding sitting in her own puddle of vomit. She wiped at her mouth with her armored hand, ignoring the feeling of cold ceramic plating against her lips, the taste of bile stinging the back of her throat, making it hard to swallow. She looked at the dead Krogan, remembering all too well the sight of that gaping maw with its shark-like teeth looming over her, ready to take a chunk out of her. She shuddered with the memory, seeing the brown leather-wrapped hilt of the KA-BAR sticking out of the roof of its mouth, its thick tongue drooping out of its opened maw. Jesus, she could probably stick half of her leg in that oral cavity. That had her want to vomit again, though the shakiness of her limbs was finally starting to subside. Adrenaline shock was finally passing, at least. "Fuck. Can I get a hand up?" Nihlus moved over and offered his taloned hand, which Sam took as he assisted her back onto her feet. Damn, her legs were still a little shaky from adrenaline shock and her brush with being eaten by a one-ton raging Krogan. "Sorry about that." Sam looked at the puddle of her vomit on the floor, feeling pretty embarrassed by the whole episode. Losing her lunch in front of a bunch of Special Forces soldiers certainly wasn't endearing.

 _"Don't be."_ Nihlus replied softly, placing his hand on her armored soldier. _"You did what you had to do, and you came out on top. That's what matters."_ That was a rather matter-of-fact way to look at it. Sam knew, realistically, that being a Marshal would probably have her shooting at a perpetrator at some point in her career. While she had been shooting at the slavers before, it had been with her 2169 Lawbringer, a weapon designed to incapacitate and be non-lethal. Now she had killed a Turian. And a fucking Krogan. With a knife. _"That was a good kill, by the way. I've certainly never knifed a Krogan before. Through the mouth, at that."_

"Are you kidding me? I thought that thing was going to _eat_ me!" Collins replied, feeling a nervous giggle escape her lips. "I'm just lucky it didn't chomp my damn arm off!" She was still giggling. What was wrong with her?

 _"Hey."_ The Turian's talons went to his helmet and he slowly unfastened it, pulling it off to reveal his plated face, fringe, and mandibles, his brown plates and white colonial markings facing her. Sam just looked at him and his green eyes, and she could feel her lip begin to tremble and her eyes heating up. No, she would not cry. Not in front of so many strangers, non-human ones at that, too. She shut her eyes hard, trying to prevent the tears from coming, but she could feel them escaping her lids and tracing down her cheeks. "You did well, Sam. You _did well."_

"I... I've never killed anyone before." Collins admitted, opening up her eyes to look at his green ones, finding herself seeing how _alien_ they were. The pupils weren't exactly round like a human's were, nor were the irises. They were slightly oval, not as severe like a cat's or a snake's, but still not like a human's at all. They were also speckled with silver. She found herself not caring. "I just... I thought..." She found herself unable to finish the sentence, thoughts intruding. Did that Turian have a wife and children, expecting him to bring home money so they could eat and live? Did they think he was just a guard doing his job to support his family? What if he were just a guard?

"Hey." A taloned hand went behind her head, gently placing itself on her hair as Nihlus pulled her forward, leaning down and pressing his forehead into hers, his eyes still looking into hers as he tilted his chin downward slightly. "Sam, these are _slavers_. They kidnap innocent sapient beings and sell them to filth and scum who think owning another biological entity is somehow appropriate." The Turian's gaze was upon her, solid and unwavering, never blinking once. "That Turian? He knew what he was doing. He picked his side, just like we picked ours. He would have shot us regardless of our affiliations, or due to the fact of our affiliations. He worked for evil men, and thus he is evil. He protected those who did wrong, and thus he is culpable."

"'For where the law stands tall, no good man shall perish, but live forever on in justice and equity'." Sam replied, her eyes drying out as she looked right back at the Blackwatch member, matching his gaze with her own. "'And where evil men exists, it is the duty of those sworn to protect the innocent to ensure they meet their righteous end'."

"That's... pretty good stuff." Nihlus said, slowly pulling his head back. "Was that another Earth quote?"

"Yes. From one of the most famous lawmen Earth's ever had, a U.S. Marshal by the name Wyatt Earp." Sam replied, wiping away the tears that still stained her cheeks, feeling her resolve return. "Thank you, Nihlus." Sam pressed her forehead onto his for a moment, not sure if she actually understood the significance of the gesture, but knowing that the Turian had done it to her to indicate that he was there for her. Perhaps it was something personal. Either way, she was grateful. She took a step back afterwards and did her best to discretely wipe her eyes, seeing the SPECTREs looking at her. Both Tela Vasir and Jondum Bau had taken off their helmets as well, and Collins found herself looking at them for the first time, seeing their faces.

Tela was very humanoid-looking, with many similar human features, save for the top of her head and the color of her skin. Her flesh was the color of blue skies on a sunny day, perhaps the shade of blue raspberry juice with indigo lips. Instead of having hair, the Asari had what appeared to be a dozen stiff flaps laying flat against her skull, tapering to curled points at the ends behind her head towards her neck, dotted with what appeared to be something similar to fish scales, starting just above her forehead and covering what Asari called their crests. Her eyes appeared to be very human-like, with white corneas and teal irises, though it took Sam a moment to realize that the Asari lacked eyelashes or eyebrows completely. Perhaps Asari were completely hairless. The other thing that Sam noted was the markings on the Asari's face, much like Turians did with the colonial markings, but for a much different purpose. As the Deputy understood it, they were called _centurymarks_ , and they signified an Asari's age, chosen profession (current and past), and a few other descriptions that she didn't quite know or understand. Tela had a symmetrical set stylized on her forehead, almost looking like tribal tattoos though white in color, and a set of smaller ones set where her less-pronounced cheekbones were. The Strike Huntress was looking at her with a calm demeanor that seemed to be reminiscent of human facial language, a look of understanding upon her face.

Whereas Tela Vasir looked human with some difference, Jondum Bau barely had any physical commonalities to a human being. Salarians by nature were taller than humans, but much skinnier and frailer-looking in comparison. His head was much narrower than that of a human, more oblong, tapering to two cranial 'horns' that curved upward from his skull, auditory horns, as she understood it. Large oblong eyes the color of midnight peered at her, while the rest of his face was flat; nostrils were merely two silted holes in the middle of his face, and his mouth was a narrow gash that seemed to lack any kind of lips or mandibles of any kind. When he blinked, it wasn't lids that closed over his eyes, but a semi-translucent film of flesh that was stored somewhere in the ocular cavity, much like that of certain Earth lizards and reptiles. His skin was almost the color of mud, lightening to a cream color near the central portion of his face. He lacked any kind of facial language as far as Sam could tell, looking at his face and noticing that it was slightly crinkled, like that of a chameleon or a gecko, suggesting that the skin wasn't as taunt as it appeared to be, or perhaps... a sign of age? Seeing their faces made them seem more human, somehow, perhaps more identifiable now that she could see and spot the similarities and differences.

Even if they were aliens, even if they were SPECTREs... they were still people, just like her.

"Thank you." Collins said one more time, looking to both Tela and Jondum, making sure that they knew she was grateful for their presence. "For being here."

"And miss out on a chance on watching a youngling making their first Krogan kill?" Jondum replied, the ridge where his eyebrows would be lifting up, his quick voice sounding... amused? "Through mouth, no less. With a knife. Very impressed." Collins felt her own mouth drop open. _Wai... what?_ "Now, can you stand over corpse? It's for pic that I'll post on Twitter after mission." Now she really felt like she just went off the deep end.

"Did I just get trolled by a Salarian?" The Deputy asked Nihlus, who was too busy chuckling to respond. Tela was too busy throwing her head back and laughing out loud. "Jesus, the galaxy is fucked."

"Picture time, youngling. Over there." The STG Operative smiled with his thin gash of a mouth, readying his Omnitool for a pic capture. Sam just shook her head as Tela moved and threw her arm around the Deputy's shoulders, still laughing as she led Sam over by the dead Krogan, handing her fallen Modulus back to her. "Look menacing. Or barbaric. Or... both."

"Can't believe I'm doing this." Collins muttered as she looked at the corpse of the huge creature that had, just a few minutes before, tried turning her into an unhappy meal. _What the hell, why not?_ Sam thought to herself as she decided to step on the Krogan's bony headplate in a pose, victorious over a fallen enemy, like a conqueror of old. _Not like anyone's ever going to believe this shit._ She held her rifle in a relaxed position, the butt of her rifle in her hip as it stood vertically as she leaned over and gave off a toothy smile, like she was having the time of her life. She heard the telltale 'snap' of a picture being taken as the Salarian's grin got even bigger.

"Oh yes. This will be a fine addition to the Wall." The STG Operative said, looking at the image captured. "Burram will be jealous and frothy."

A/N: NiFe is the chemical abbreviation for the compound Nickel-Iron (Nickel being Ni, and Iron being Fe, the old word being Ferrous). NiFe is found in Earth's core, meteors and asteroids, and I believe is the most found native alloy in the world (alloys, children, are a blending of two metals, such as copper and tin to make bronze, so on and so forth).

Mu-Metal is a particular alloy that is 77% Nickel, 15% Iron, 5% Polyberum, and the rest... magnesium and other elements. Mu-Metal is magnetic resistant (non-ferrous) and is used to shield sensitive electronics from magnetic fields that all electrical components make when powered. It can be seen in transformers, hard disks, and high-grade computer components.

BB-8 - the spherical astrodrone from Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

Battle Drill 6A - The Army term for room clearing. Generally, clearing a room is done from a stack formation or a split-stack (depending on scenario and layout) in which the front man takes the path of least resistance, clears the immediate fatal funnel, and turns in the opposite direction of which the door swings open. He then clears the near corner following the wall before clearing the rest of the room to the opposite corner. The second man does the same after him, but in the opposite direction. The third and fourth man clears the centerline of the room. Law enforcement have been clearing rooms and houses longer than the Army, and usually do it with far less people (then again, the situation is _usually_ less dangerous, though about as stressful). For this story, I created a different form of room clearing; in which everyone standing in a line faces the same direction and clears sectors of fire. The first man takes a position immediately off the door, while the second man goes in deeper and turns, and so on and so forth.

For all the hype that the Krogan had in the game, they didn't seem particularly tougher or harder to kill than most enemies in the game save for that one guy in Therum, who was a righteous pain in the ass. With the reputation that they had, their size, redundant organs, and the like, I changed the Krogan into what they really should have been; bullet-soaking blood-raging killing machines. The headplate is thick and dense enough to bounce rounds, which is helpful when they lower their head and charge, and I think I'll make their bodies denser and impacted to where normal gunfire is like half damage. Plus, they weigh one ton, the whole 'where does an 800 lb bear sleep?' joke and all.

"Where the law stands tall..." is actually my own quote, made up for this story. Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp (1848-1929) is most known for being the Deputy Town Marshal in Tombstone, AZ Territory, the site of the famous Gunfight at the OK Corral. A Deputy Marshal in Wichita and later Dodge City, Earp was catapulted to fame for the Clayton Gang Cowboys, though it was his older brother Virgil who was the US Marshal. Most of Earp's life is known from a few bare interviews and a biography written two years after Earp's death by Stuart Lake. If you actually look at the facts, Wyatt spent most of his life gambling, running a whore house, prospecting, and running saloons. Occasionally, he was a lawman. Strangely enough, the entire ordeal with the Clayton Brothers and the Cowboys, Wyatt was the only one who remained unharmed, as Vigil was shot and maimed, Morgan was shot and killed, while Doc Holiday was also grazed.

I kind of wanted to delve deeper into the _alienness_ of the aliens, with a little splash of cultural ideas. The idea of _centurymarks_ I've used a time or two in my stories, explaining why the Asari tattoo their faces (as far as I'm aware, it was never explained in the game). I also made them hairless, to include the lack of eyelashes as well. As aquatic descendants, hair wouldn't be needed as it would for land-based creatures, which use hair for thermal regulation and light protection from sun and damage. I don't actually know the purpose of the 'horns' on the Salarians, but I've read a FanFic or two that described them as auditory horns. Which would make Mordin half-deaf? The translucent eyeskin I believe is actually canon.

Trolling - Honestly, LogicalPremise gave me the idea, with Vigil having nothing better to do than trolling the millennia away between Reaper cycles. Because trolling never gets old. It just seems that the hyperactive Salarians would be of the same vein.

Burram - Khel Burram, of ME's DLC _Pinnacle Station_.


	7. Revan, VII

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare…_

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins peeked her head around the corner of the hallway that led deeper into the colony pre-fab facility, seeing a long corridor that had several side access doors down both sides of the corridor before it turned into a T-type intersection. She clucked at the sight as she pulled her head back from the corner, looking to her left to see Nihlus Kryik standing there, his darkened visor looking right at her.

"Three rooms left, three right, and a 'T' at the end. Living quarters, my guess." The Deputy replied, looking across the hallway she had just looked into, seeing Tela Vasir and Jondum Bau on the other side. "Whatever interference is muddling with your doohickeys could be in any one of those rooms with five guys sitting on top of it, shotguns and rifles pointed right at the door, itching for action."

 _"Spirits-be-damned technology nets."_ The Turian grumped, his vox set at whisper mode. Collins had grunted at the statement, though out of all of them, she was least affected. Technology Nets were, evidently, something similar to the old Warlock Systems that the Navy used to interrupt radio signals to prevent remote controlled bombs from being triggered for several wars. Whatever it was, it was interfering with everyone's high-range processing equipment and functions; autotargetting assist suites were off, multiplex functionalities on Omnitools were on the fritz, and most of the armor's VI capabilities were on standby mode. It struck Sam as odd that out of all of them, she was the best off. Each of the SPECTREs beside her had some of the best equipment and programs ever invented, better than money could buy, and had been relying on them for years to gain the upper hand against criminals and such throughout the galaxy. Unfortunately, TechNets were the answer to those who wished to interfere with such advantages. Kinetic shields were down, Tela's biokinetic amp was malfunctioning, Nihlus couldn't control his drone, and Jondum's Omnitool was now worthless. Stuck with guns and ablative plating on their armor, the SPECTREs had to play extra cautious if they wanted to survive even a normal firefight now that their superiority had been swept aside.

For Collins, it was merely Wednesday.

"Look. If it affects us, it affects them, right?" Sam asked, looking to the SPECTREs. "They've got no shields, drones, radio signals, or communication equipment of any kind. Either the Net is in a room by itself, or it's got a mess of guys guarding it. Either way, they can't _see_ us coming... just _hear_ us."

" _Qua'supa?"_ Tela Vasir asked, her helmet shaking slightly. Unfortunately, the TechNet had affected Collins' one piece of useful technology she had; her Omnitool. Without it, the only things she had to go without were her 'Flash' program, her 'Cuff' manufacturing... and her ability to understand everyone. Thankfully, human beings were _extremely_ paranoid about Turians, and had hardcoded Common Cipritine into every communication device just in case of EMP or hacking, making sure that troops and cops would always be able to understand Turians in case of intelligence-gathering or reacting to troop orders. Nihlus was the only one she could understand, though it seemed that Tela and Jondum could understand her well enough. The Blackwatch Commando wasn't repeating her words to them, just theirs to her.

"Can you imagine hearing a bunch of stamping feet just outside your room without being able to see them?" Sam smiled as she looked at Nihlus with her grin. "I don't know about you, but I know what sound humans fear most. _Turian feet."_

 _"Interesting."_ The SPECTRE thought it over as he looked over to Tela and Jondum. _"What would that do?"_

"Make somebody do something stupid... like stick their head out to see what's going on." The Deputy replied, nodding to Jondum. "Have Bau post with that Sniper Rifle of his to engage anyone curious while you lead our 'platoon' like a real-life Blackwatch Centurion would... with your translator turned off. Makes them think there are other Turians are about, while me and Tela kick up and make a racket, sound like several Turians getting into position."

 _"Qua sel'nes shai'val corleea Palaveen?"_ Tela asked. Sam looked to Nihlus.

 _"She wonders how she's suppose to understand Common Cipritine."_ Nihlus relayed, translating Thessian Low Cant for her sakes.

"Just do what I do. I understand it well enough. Any human with half-a-brain gets taught the basic commands in case our translators go down so we don't get beaten and tortured for ignorance." Collins replied to Vasir's question. The response obviously did not please the Turian Blackwatch member, who shuffled where he stood, his darkened visor looking at her. "And it'll work best with your helmet off, Nihlus. Just roar out some orders and commands while Tela and I make the necessary noises to make it sound like there's a Blackwatch squad about to descend on them. Someone's bound to get curious."

 _"V'ek nok voor slee."_ Jondum said, nodding his head. Obviously, he saw merits in it.

 _"Can't believe I'm actually considering this."_ The vox speaker replied as the helmet came off, revealing Nihlus's brown-plated face with its white colonial markings. "This _spera_ better work."

"Best laid plans of mice and men." Collins replied with a shrug after she took off her own helmet. Any words she spoke would be translated as well, and ruin the guise. Tela took hers off as well, grimacing slightly. Nihlus and the Asari both looked at her for a moment, and then at each other. Shit... she had spoken with her helmet off, Nihlus's translator turned off, and Tela's helmet off as well. Neither one of them spoke Standard Alliance English, which she had just talked in. She tried her Common Cipritine. _"Plans don't survive enemy."_ Of course, it sounded more like _ne consilia reliquos inimicos_ , which Nihlus nodded, obviously getting it. Her lack of a flanged voice meant that she wasn't speaking in sub-harmonics either, something a Turian would immediately pick up... but other races wouldn't save Hanar, as she understood it. Well, it wasn't like any tentacle monsters had come out to attack them in the pre-fab. _"Ordinibus?" Orders?_

"Platoon! Set _latus_ heavy right _auxilium_ with incendiary effect. Prepare _ad_ burn." Nihlus Kryik commanded in clear loud tones, sounding just like a Turian Platoon Leader.

 _"Etiam!"_ 'Understood!' Collins replied, trying to gargle her words in her throat to produce the flanged voice by making the back of her throat mucous-y. She snapped her fingers at Tela and smashed her fist into the palm of her other hand towards the right side wall opposite of Jondum before stamping her feet as hard as she could while running towards the wall he had ordered her to. She didn't get every word, but she understood heavy right; right flanking procedure. She thrusted her shoulder into the wall in front of her by the corner, and then into the spot next to it. She saw that Tela was repeating what she did; making it sound like an assault team was stacking against the wall. 'Burn' in Turian military lexicon didn't mean fire; it meant 'to fire'. They were imitating an assault stack meant to clear the rooms. If anyone was going to poke their head out and do something about it, it would be after the 'go' command. This was what Collins was hoping for, at least. _"Paratus!"_ 'Ready!' Tela replied with the same word, trying to deepen her voice as much as possible to sound as unAsari as possible.

 _"Vade!"_ Nihlus commanded as Sam lifted her right foot and started slamming it into the ground as hard and as fast as she could, trying to imitate running booted feet. Vasir was doing the same behind her for two seconds before Jondum Bau's automatic sniper rifle fired two bursts in rapid succession. Then a third a few seconds later.

 _"Nlab'nan."_ The Salarian STG Operative said quietly. _"Vreek."_ Sam looked to Nihlus, who merely shook his head. He didn't get LogLan, or Logical Language; what Salarians spoke.

 _"Wan."_ Tela spoke up, and then held up three fingers, and then jerked it to the right side. The Asari obviously understood Salarian. Thankfully.

 _"Et portae tres, dextera cornu."_ Sam translated to Common Cipritine for Kryik's benefit when she got it; third door down, right hand side. She pied the corner with her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle poking out around the corner, firing a short burst herself, being on the same side as the door was. " _Pro Csuse!"_ Collins shouted with the burst, hoping it would disguise her voice as something close to female Turian, the gun fire hiding her lack of a flanged voice and no sub-harmonics. There probably wasn't an organic being in the galaxy that would have missed her last words, translated or not. _Pro Csuse_ was the Turian National Anthem after all; Die for the Cause. Everyone had been hearing it way too many times their entire lives whether they wanted to or not. It was as much a calling card as it was a declaration of intent and a goading tool. Few could resist going toe-to-toe with a Turian, thinking themselves better.

 _"Pro Csuse!"_ Nihlus shouted in response, Tela trying to impersonate it at the same time to make sound as if it was coming from as many throats as possible as Sam let loose another salvo of rounds. Another person popped out of the room, and both Jondum and Sam shot at the man, a human one. He quickly went down with a burst to both his chest and head, his helmet coming apart from the Salarian's well-aimed burst from his sniper rifle, while his chest caved in with the impact of her own burst. The Deputy gritted her teeth at the thought of killing her first human, but it didn't bother her nearly as much. It was her seventh kill, including that first Turian and the Krogan. It was as Nihlus told her earlier; they were men who knew what they were getting into when they signed on. They had made their choices, and now they were suffering the consequences. Simple as that. Sam took a knee at the corner as the Blackwatch Commando did the same thing she did but above her, standing up so that there were two guns covering. Vasir readied a grenade, using her limited biokinetic force to lighten it as she tossed it over Sam's shoulder, bouncing it off the opposite wall and banking it right into the room in question.

The grenade went off.

"Nice throw, Tela." Collins complimented the Asari, impressed with the bank.

"I thank you." The Strike Huntress replied, and the two of them quickly looked at each other in surprise. They had understood each other! Translators were working!

"Net down!" Bau called out as he pulled out his silvery sphere drone that Collins coined 'BB-8' and rolled it down the hallway as Tela switched to the opposite side of the doorway to cover it while the Salarian STG Operative controlled his drone. "Moving to room in question. No life sign patterns, three bodies in room."

"Vasir and I will clear it. Bau and Collins cover the corridor." Kryik replied, the Turian already stalking around her as he moved down the corridor with his Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle in the lead, Tela Vasir a meter behind him with her Elite Arms CS-18 Rapidstrike Submachine Gun in her hands, pulses of biokinetic energy distorting the air around her left hand as she prepared to use her Biotics as required. Sam watched as Turian and Asari entered the room tactically, seeping and clearing the interior as they assaulted in. Collins watched the hallway through the holographic pop-up scope of her Modulus, keeping an eye on the various doors in the corridor, as well as the ending intersection itself.

 _"Tech Net is down. Permanently."_ Kryik's voice came over Collin's communicator in her helmet, which was on the floor in front of her. _"Bau, get your 'droid to check the other rooms while we pilfer the Net's memory core. I want to find out who built this thing and hang them out by their spurs."_

"That doesn't sound fun." Collins commented quietly to Jondum, who merely nodded once.

"Seen it once. Not pretty." The Salarian replied as he fiddled with the Haptic joystick of his Omnitool, the BB-8 drone rolling out of the occupied room in the middle of the corridor and began clearing the other rooms, each door opening as the spherical drone rolled in front of it. It took less than a minute for the BB to complete clearing the rooms with its sensors and sweeps. "Rooms clear. Intersection ahead."

 _"Understood. Helmet up, and then two coming out."_ The Turian ordered, announcing that two people were going to be coming out of a room they had cleared. That was normal technique; in a stressful situation, one wanted to minimize as much the possibility of fratricide and shaky nerves, someone almost firing upon the first moving object they saw. It happened more often than most militaries cared to admit, even among seasoned professionals.

"Come out." Collins announced after she had attached her helmet back on, feeling a little bit better with it on. Not only did it protect her head with armor and extended her kinetic shields to the area around her skull, but with the thermoregulation and equalization of her atmosphere based upon her breathing rate and mixture of oxygen and carbon dioxide, it kept everything inside her armored suit at comfortable level. Despite the many exertions she had gone through so far since landing on Revan, she was barely sweaty, with only the lightest feel of condensating sweat upon her brow. It worked just as well for morale as it did for performance. She watched Nihlus and Tela filing out of the room as they stalked towards the T-intersection, with both herself and Jondum filing right behind them, having readied themselves for the task up ahead.

They had cleared only a quarter of the complex, after all.

* * *

Clearing out the living quarters of the Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700 had been one real pain in the ass.

Deputy Samantha Collins was currently taking a breather as she took a knee on the last hallway that contained the last set of cubicle-like rooms for the colony pre-fab complex, trying to ignore just how sore her arms, back, legs, and feet were. According to the chronometer on her Omnitool, she and the three SPECTREs, Nihlus Kryik, Tela Vasir, and Jondum Bau, had been clearing the complex for the past three hours. With the way her body was feeling, it felt like she had been doing it all day. She had been on Revan for almost six hours now, and that amount of time on a planet with greater-than-Earth gravity had taken its toll on her. To think that she was actually in good physical condition, working out on calisthenics and cardio every other day at forty-five minutes a day when she was in college and on Therum. If she hadn't of done that, she'd probably be passed out from exhaustion and caloric-consumption.

She was currently shoving a high-calorie, high-sugar content energy bar geared towards Asari into her mouth, eating it and trying to ignore the flavor. Sweet seaweed and minty kelp just wasn't a combination meant for human beings.

"Last floor, Maiden." Strike Huntress Tela Vasir stated from her right as the Asari too took a knee, though more out of politeness than need. Collins didn't doubt that each of the SPECTREs were probably in peak physical shape for their species, exemplifying whatever they believed to be in excellent shape for their respective biologies. Clearing out four levels of a twenty _thousand_ plus square meter building was physically taxing. Doing so on a double gravity world had pushed her past her limits.

"So can't wait to find the Big Cheese. The boss." Sam explained when Tela titled her head in confusion. Translation software translated actual works, not actual meanings or references. "After this is done? Nap time, like an entire day's worth. I'm pooped. Exhausted." Human euphemisms were definitely not fun to avoid.

"Same here." The Asari admitted with a smile on her indigo lips, nodding in reply. "I admit that this operation has been one of my longer ones. Usually, such actions as these will come with a small fleet with an attachment of Commandos, Blackwatch members, or STG Operatives to help out with much of the necessary footwork, such as clearing buildings such as these. A Platoon of Blackwatch would have had this operation done inside an hour. Admittedly, that is approximately fifty heavily-armed Turians running about, roaring 'Die for the Cause' every third step." That had Sam giggle. Despite being an Asari, Tela had a good sense of humor, and tended to be very personable. Perhaps she was what Asari Maidens were like, and not the stereotypical display and reputation that Asari Matriarchs had; aloof, superior, wise, and ancient.

"Almost sounds like our Marines. SAMC procedure would probably have been to flood this place with bloody-thirsty Jarheads that shoot first and grunt later." The Deputy replied, still chuckling. "What the difference between us, honestly? Technology? Training?"

"There is that." The Huntress nodded, looking introspectively at Collins, her seafoam eyes thoughtful. "It is my belief that every race has something to contribute to any subject based upon their viewpoints and beliefs. How I go about finding a solution to a problem is not necessarily the way you would go to find a solution to a problem. This is not to say that my way or your way is the right way, merely different ways. If it reaches the same goals and solves the problem, who has the liberty to choose which is the better path?"

"Dear God, I found my first Asari Unitarian Universalist." Sam said with mock-wonder, getting Tela to look at her oddly. "It's a religion with no specific belief that believes in unity towards concept, not a particular religion. Mutual cooperation, mostly." That had the Strike Huntress frown slightly. "You'll just have to look it up, Tela. Not a bad thing, as I understand it."

"Sounds much like _Siari_ , the Voice of Unity that is common among Asari." Vasir replied, nodding slowly. "Feeling rested?"

"Feel better once I'm out of this death trap and off this toxic shithole, that's for sure." Sam answered with a quip, making the Asari chuckle. "One last floor, and it'll come with a prize at the end; the head honcho and hopefully a database full of exploitable intel we can use to free more people and put more slavers to pasture."

"That is a 'pry-zee'." Tela tried saying the English word, obviously not existing in Asari lexicon. "Come, Maiden. The tides come, and the time is here to brave the seas."

"Feel like I'm in a pirate movie now." Sam grunted as she stood up, her legs still sore and still feeling exhausted. The higher Revan gravity had taken its toll on her, and while the respite was a welcoming one, Sam knew how the human body worked; she would only get about half as far before the break, and would require rest for twice as long to get half again as much work. At some point in time, she was going to actually have to lie down and try to sleep for several hours if she wanted to remain efficient and effective, but the fact of the matter was that she was on a high-grav world; without weeks of acclimization, she would always remain less-than-effective, and probably never would be fully effective unless she lived there for years. She also had to remember that injuries here would probably be twice as bad, and any risk would be compounded twice as much for the same reason; gravity. Human beings had evolved on a world where nine point eight meters per second squared was the norm, as well as one bar air pressure. Any changes in that would have her essentially 'out-of-environment', and not at full capacity. Just because she might be on a planet with lesser gravity didn't mean she could be less cautious; people died making mistakes as simple as running too fast on the Moon, tripping on a rock because of uncontrolled speed and descent, and cracking a faceplate on a rock. Space wasn't meant for fuck-ups or fucking up. "Another hour or so of creeping along and nabbing the bad guy. Then sleep." It was a goal in Sam's mind.

"Have another energy bar, if you require it." Vasir pulls another one of high-caloric, high-sugar food bars from a small hardcase at the small of her back.

"Uh." Was all Sam could mutter out of politeness. She could still taste the first one unfortunately. "Maybe later. That stuff's not meant for human beings." She would have to make sure she kept a few rations of PowerBars or NutriGo's if she went on ops. Who knew when she might be stuck somewhere unpleasant for a while? She had food back on the UT-32, but the _Kortuga_ was three levels down, on the other side of the complex, and outside. Just heading back and trying to find it in the thick pea soup fog would probably drain her. She guessed carrying munchies was something one in the military learned. Human-appropriate food would be better than Asari rations. At least the Huntress had some. God forbid if she were in dire straits and only had _dextro_ food available. She had heard stories on what dextro food did to levo-chilarity beings. "Let's just push forward and get this done. If I start getting sloppy, call me out on it."

"Ss-law-pee." Geez, were human euphemisms really that bad?

"Uncoordinated and less-than-effective." Sam picked up her helmet and set it over her head, connecting it to the rest of her armor and sealing it. No use getting ss-law-pee now, was there? At least the helmet was effective at keeping her from sweating too much and keeping the temperature comfortable. Thankfully, there hadn't been any chemical or biological munitions used by the slavers. Considering how nasty their reputation was, that sort of surprised Collins. They had electrified catch nets and mild nerve gases to make capturing people easier. Perhaps these guys were just guards and caretakers or some such thing, not actual snatch-and-grab slavers. That... was an interesting thought. "Tela? You've fought slavers before, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"No shock nets? No knock-out gases? No capture traps?" The Deputy asked, looking at the unhelmeted Asari as she frowned for a moment. "The only big thing I saw here was the Tech Net. That makes sense. But no... slave-catching equipment? Pacification tools and the like?"

"That... is an interesting observation." The Strike Huntress looked bothered for a moment. "Nihlus? Did you perchance hear what Sam mentioned?"

 _"Yes, of course. I hadn't thought of it, either."_ The Turian Blackwatch member's voice came over Collins' helmet speakers, his flanged voice thoughtful. _"A captured SPECTRE is worth millions in ransom. Even an individual Special Forces warrior could bring a huge net gain. That message we observed on the_ Kolwoon _made mention to capture Sam, so the ability_ should _be there..."_

"Perhaps we destroyed what they had at the beginning? You did throw a kill grenade at the first defenders." Sam reminded the Turian, thinking of that battle... God, was it really only a couple of hours ago? It seemed like ages!

 _"I scanned them when I swept them. Nothing of the sort."_ Kryik replied. _"Seven armed individuals against one wouldn't need any specialized equipment to capture you, so I don't think they brought anything."_

"Then... the equipment isn't here because it never was," Sam reasoned out, thinking it over, "or it's not here because it's somewhere else. Like on a raid."

 _"A possibility."_ Jondum Bau replied over the communicator. _"We have yet to find any actual physical evidence of slave-holding here. No pens, no shackles, no containment units, and no transfer pods. If anyone were to visit none-the-wiser, they would leave none-the-wiser."_

"What if I'm wrong?" Collins asked out loud, frowning. "I mean, I thought they were smugglers due to the irregularities of the Customs Logs and declaration of goods. They are carrying _people_ , and they are trussed up on medical tables... but that doesn't exactly mean that the ship's crew are slavers. Maybe not even the people in this facility. What if it's like... well, my Marshal Office? Marshal Weathers seems to know, but I was in the dark. What's to say that this is an actual slave depot as oppose to say... just a depot?"

 _"Out in the middle of nowhere?"_ Nihlus asked dryly. _"We've got pretty much every major race covered in defenders, and that level of cooperation usually only exists in law enforcement and law breaking."_

"I didn't necessarily say they were innocent, just perhaps we're not seeing everything." Sam pointed out, thinking it through. "What if it's just a traders' post, some sort of 'no questions asked' kind of place that really isn't involved with smuggling and trafficking, just some sort of exchange depot and port for... fuel and necessities, or perhaps a place to bunk down to avoid Citadel and Alliance patrols? I noted inaccuracies in the weights both going to and coming from the Relay. But I actually haven't seen much that suggest that this place is doing that much. The storage garage just had containers that were placed haphazardly all over for defensive positions. I don't really see smugglers or pirates doing that with precious cargo that would get them paid."

There was silence among them for a few moments. Obviously, brains were being used now.

 _"Wrong location, perhaps?"_ Bau spoke up, the Salarian thinking faster than everyone else. _"Captain gets message, and lands for port. You followed particle traces of their engines to this location. But what if this location is not_ the _location?"_

"I checked the fuel consumption and range based upon empirical data of the _Kolwoon_ -Class, and this is the only planet within that range." Sam defended her logic, though it had her thinking. "Unless you are suggesting they have another location on the planet, and merely went to this one because of the warning given to them."

 _"Yes. That would make sense."_ Tela had finally put her helmet back on, her voice coming in through the helmet speakers. _"Certain networks such as pirates and slavers do tend to have secondary locations to scrub their logs and pretend to play nice in case of detection."_

"But they had approximately seventeen hours since Marshal Weathers sent them the heads-up." Collins replied, thinking it through. It was what she did; working with available data. "Seventeen hours to _not_ remove the cargo containers and replace them? We saw several in the storage garage that could have sufficed if they wished to pretend to be something other than what I thought they were." No, something didn't add up. "Obviously they weren't worried about me on my lonesome, so this isn't some secondary site. There's no fuel storage, extra equipment, replacement parts, or cargo here. This _has_ to be the place because the ship is still here. Running two facilities just sounds expensive for this kind of environment. Slavers are greedy, and they'll want to increase their profit margins. Running off-chance facilities just sounds expensive, especially on toxic planets with high pressure and high gravity. This also isn't some pirate den or smuggler's dump site; we haven't seen the necessary cargo or supplies for such. No, this is the location."

 _"Good points. Continue."_ Bau replied, his armored hand thumbing the side of his helmet's jaw line in thought.

"This has to be the load point; the children are loaded and ready to go into the _Kolwoon_." Sam continued, remembering what she saw. Either the cargo container would be off-loaded here... or on-loaded. With the medical equipment, chemicals, and apparatuses, those would have to be at a location, or on the ship. She hadn't seen any obvious Med Bays in any of the first three levels containing such equipment. There hadn't been any individual pieces in the storage garage either, and the Deputy doubted they would have cleaned up _that_ well for just a visiting Deputy. She would have been outnumbered... hell, how many people had been here? The total kills had been at least in the high thirties, low forties. That seemed to be an awful lot for just a depot or a camp. Every person would need to earn their pay, and thus would have some duties, responsibilities, and obligations to justify them. Maintenance, transportation, loading, sweeping... something. Forty plus people in the ass-end of nowhere was a lot of mouths to feed and keep busy enough from being bored and doing something stupid.

Something occurred to her. Something she had said back on the transportation vehicle. Something that the Marshal had written. Something _horrifying_.

"Oh God..." All the persons in the cargo container had been children; daughters, babies, hatchlings and the like. Very young children, looking to be somewhere less than a year old for the human babies. That kind of theft would have practically _every_ species in the galaxy hounding for blood, ripping doors off the hinges. Kidnapping children was an incredibly _risky_ venture, even more so that capturing adults. Going to some blackspace outpost with crap defenses or leading the gullible was a risk unto itself, but manageable if one knew what to do and paid off the right kind of people. It probably wouldn't merit quality though, and from what Sam understood of Earth's history when slavery was rife, quality meant money. No, slavers _wanted_ better profits; healthy young men and women to fill the auction blocks, charging premium prices for a full lifetime of servitude for a person in good shape and another fifty years of life, not some work-weary middle-aged person looking to retire. Children... didn't really fit that scheme perfectly, but it did fit it. A child could be _taught and trained_ to be a slave, knowing no other kind of life. Sure, the upkeep would be more at the onset, the first ten or so years being a loss for an owner, but after that? You had a slave that would serve you without question for fifty years, until they worked themselves to death. Children would also eventually breed more slaves; another mark-up. That's what she had been thinking when she saw the babies.

But capturing children would be _too_ risky.

It was simply about numbers and risks, a supply and demand ratio involving the expense of capturing a potential slave, the risk of being discovered, and the means to get to a 'friendly' location to sell said slave. There were other factors; bribes, pay-offs, specialized equipment coming from specialized manufacturers, knowing locations that wouldn't look too closely while charging more because of the fact, so on and so forth. All came back to the profit margin, and while a baby could probably be sold at a pretty Credit, the risk of getting one was huge. A pair of parents crying and howling in rage. A community screaming in anger and retribution. Law enforcement agents that took such things too personally. Politicians taking advantage of such passions by making speeches and actions for re-election campaigns. If there was a slaver group dedicated into taking children, there would be veritable _mobs_ howling for justice and retribution, and none so louder than Turians, if the rumors were to be believed. No one wanted the thought of a Turian Armada coming out for blood, stopping at nothing to take back their hatchlings. Besides, weren't Turian eggs kept in Hatcheries and Rooks? Those were supposedly some of the most guarded locations in Turian Space, as Sam understood it. Turian hatchlings were seen as beyond precious, and the taking of just one would have the civic-minded militant Turians coming out in _droves_ to capture the offender. And Turians had a very brutal outlook on certain crimes, especially anything that began with the word 'child' in it. No, no one would risk that.

Those children hadn't been born in other locations.

"No, no, no..." Collins brought up her Omnitool, looking up the schematics for the Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700, trying to remember what she had seen earlier. She had looked over the layout many times, but hadn't paid as much attention to the upper floors when she was dealing with the current ones. The fourth floor was the least looked at, but she had looked at it on a couple of occasions, mostly to figure out where the main office or headquarters would be. It seemed strange to have the main office on the fourth floor of a high-gravity world, but kingpins were like that; they wanted to appear on top, and thus the office would be on top, like a king of old. The colony pre-fab facility didn't have a dedicated elevator running through all the floors, just simple cargo and maintenance lifts that spanned only a set of floors, meaning that someone would have to traverse a portion of the floor if they wanted to reach the next one. There was, however, a central ramp and staircase that the SPECTREs had booby trapped to prevent anyone from approaching their rear and keeping cleared areas cleared that worked just as well. She remembered looking at the staircase and had been humored by the label of one room in the complex that had been on the fourth floor.

 _Entertainment Room._

It seemed that such colony buildings had a dedicated room for entertainment, and it was the largest room on the fourth floor, occupying perhaps a fifth of the floor. Surprisingly enough, it had even come with a series of contragravity suspenders to adjust the gravity; a rather expensive modification, but one designed for comfort. Perhaps it was meant for such activities as Laserball, a popular Turian sport involving almost zero-G conditions. Perhaps it was meant to make gravity 'normal' for the comfort of the denizens while they watched a vid. Perhaps it was to make workouts more strenuous for those who liked to feel athletic, adding more difficulty by increasing gravity. It seemed a luxury... but on a double gravity world, it probably felt like a blessing. Being able to sit down and relax without the constant feeling of feeling twice as heavy or encumbered felt like a Godsend to Sam right about now.

But what if 'entertainment' meant... other things?

For most species, the act of procreation was an actual physical act; the inserting of certain organs into others, and letting biology do the rest. In that, only the Asari were truly different, being that the supposedly conceived through metaphysical means. Salarians required pools, as did the Hanar, but still had something considered sex, if not in the traditional manner. Everyone else made do with whatever lounges, chairs, mattresses, or conveniences were comfortable or available at the time. But on a high-grav world like Revan, sex would probably induce injuries or health issues. Being able to adjust gravity to a species liking would certainly make such activities more pleasurable than dealing with figuring out how to make do in extreme low-grav when certain movements might cause injury, or high-grav where just rolling onto your partner might cause severe pain. Contragravity suspenders was probably more than a luxury piece of equipment, especially with spouses that wished to mate... and just two interested lovers that wanted the same thing.

All the slavers they had met so far had been men. Not a single Asari among them.

That probably wasn't to be too unexpected; most races saw males as the hunters and protectors. Even with humanity and a two-hundred plus year history of letting women in the military and in law enforcement, men were still seen as the warriors of mankind while women were considered the 'fairer' sex. While not exactly sexist or chauvinistic, women had evolved to be the 'caretakers' of the family, and humanity hadn't been the only race to do so. Most every Earth species was the same. Even among the other space faring races, much was the same, especially the Salarians; females were homemakers. While Turian females were conscripted into the military along with their male counterparts, and human women volunteered alongside human men for the Systems Alliance military, they were the only races that allowed their females into battle. Asari were the exception to that rule, being monogendered beings with feminine features, but every race saw 'women' as something to cherish and protect.

Because women made babies.

It made sense to Sam now, that cargo container. There had been forty children in there. Add three more containers with a potential of forty more children in it, and that made for a hundred and sixty children in a flight. In the three weeks she had been assigned to monitor the black outside of the Knossos System in the Artemis Tau Cluster, the _Kalwoon_ -Class transportation vessel had visited twice since being assigned; once right when she was beginning, and the second time being this trip. That was three hundred and twenty children in a month's time. She had found forty-seven Custom Logs with Bart Weather's name attached to it, this trip making it number forty-eight if it had returned to Therum as it normally did before she discovered it. Slavers wouldn't have left with only a partially loaded ship, so the cargo containers would have been full of 'product' before leaving. One hundred and sixty per flight. Forty-eight flights. Sam did the math in her head quickly.

Seven thousand, six hundred and eighty.

 _There was no fucking way someone kidnaps almost eight thousand children with no one being the wiser..._

 _...unless they weren't being kidnapped at all._

 _"You figured it out."_ Bau said softly, his helmet coming off as he looked at her with his large black eyes. "You are smart, fast thinking, and able to connect dots well." He took a long, slow, deep breath. "We need to keep this one, Nihlus. She's Salarian good." Collins would have blushed with the compliment of being considered equal to what most agreed to be one of the smartest races in the galaxy. She would have blushed... if she weren't totally horrified by the conclusion she had reached.

"They're not importing children. They're _exporting_ them." Sam said in a shaky voice, taking off her own helmet to wipe away at the tears that were now running fast down her face. She couldn't wipe at them with her helmet off, and she wasn't bothering to feel shame for crying in front of the SPECTREs. "They weren't kidnapped. Mother of God... they're _crops_."

 _"Goddess... you mean..."_ Tela couldn't speak. Nihlus went as stiff as a board.

"Every slaver here was a man." Deputy Sam Collins said, her voice weak as she looked at them all. "They're literally _fucking_ themselves slaves to be sold with females that they've procured. They're _breeding_ children. They're making the slaves right here."

The ensuing silence was deafening as Sam sobbed into her own hands at the thought.

* * *

A/N: I told you earlier, worst case scenario. And it can get worse. And it will. Because, sadly, it's existed before and people shouldn't forget that it still exists today.

Warlock System – While I can't divulge too much due to classified material, the Warlock Systems were a series of devices meant to interfere with radio signals, everything from garage door openers to cell phones. Red, Green, Blue, Ice, and Dukes were the series names, and these devices saved a _shit ton_ of American lives in the Afghan and Iraq Wars, disrupting Radio-Controlled Improvised Explosive Devices (RCIED's). Once picked up a cell phone that was previously connected to a 155mm Artillery Shell IED that was working perfectly fine, but was getting no signal due to the Warlocks.

Common Cipritine – Considering that Earth hosts _7,000_ languages, it would make sense that the other races would have similar issues, especially with planetary colonies. Just look how different English, American, Canadian, and Australian are, and that was just a couple hundred years of dividing oceans. For Nihlus, he speaks Common Cipritine, which will be the major (but not only) language of Palaven. For those who recognize it, I have used Latin for Common Cipritine.

Thessian Low Cant – Tela will actually speak something else, but it gets translated to Thessian Low Cant. Think of bad accented English to make people think you are retarded (which will be the point, since the Asari have a chip on their shoulders). The other two languages for the Asari will be Thessian Middle Chant and Thessian High Speech.

Sur'keshian LogLan – Logical Language is, in fact, a real language, a conglomeration of English, Japanese, Chinese, German, and French, with simplified rules. As the Salarians are highly computive and curious, LogLan is their unifying language.


	8. Revan, VIII

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. CANADIANS..._

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Author's Note: You think I went off the deep end with the last chapter? Keep reading.

* * *

"No. That can't be true. It just simply can't be possible."

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins looked to Council Agent Nihlus Kryik as the Turian Blackwatch Centurion, who was trying to wrap his mind over what she had discovered. Both her and Council Agent Tela Vasir had taken off their helmets after her proclamation on what she had figured with the data she had seen in the colony pre-fab facility they were assault in on the high-pressure, high-gravity toxic soup world of Revan in the Thermopile System. Council Agent Jondum Bau had his helmet off as well, merely looking at Sam with thoughtfulness, obviously having arrived at the same conclusion she had about the facility they were in, probably around the same time. He had complimented her on her deductive reasoning, but the Deputy hadn't even really noticed on a personal level; she was too busy reeling from what she had implied.

"The problem is numbers." Nihlus continued, obviously working things out on his own. "Most races only give birth to one hatchling per mating, and the gestation period is a specific length of time for each race, usually just less than a year for most save the Asari." Tela and Jondum both nodded at that. All that the Turian said was true, at least what Sam knew to be true for human beings, at least. "The cargo listing suggested that there was thirty _unit_ of Turian hatchlings and _fifty_ units of human hatchlings upon that vessel this trip along. That is suggesting that eighty females must have given birth from the previous trip to this one in order to make its cargo. But those eighty females would only be able to produce a nest approximately once a year if one wanted to continue using them. That's only one shipment, not enough to justify several flights a year, as the Custom Logs suggest." The Turian pointed out, and it was a good point. "If there was just one ship making shipments once a month, that's twelve shipments a year. That would mean something like..."

"Nine hundred and sixty human and Turian women." Deputy Sam Collins supplied immediately. "Six hundred humans, and three hundred and sixty Turians."

"That's an incredible feat to do, holding a thousand women fettered." The SPECTRE reasoned out. "Feeding them, taking care of them, and keeping them locked up. We haven't seen the necessary number of guards to lock up that many people. General rule is one guard out of twenty-five prisoners. That's forty, which is about how many we've killed or captured. Then you're talking... what? A hundred and fifty biokinetically-active Asari? Fifty to sixty Elcor cows? Neither one of those species is easy to keep confined; Asari have Biotics, and Elcor are _very_ strong. Then you're going to probably have twelve very intelligent Salarian Dalatrasses that can take control of a Salarian of their bloodline. This facility doesn't bear the hallmarks, and certainly hasn't possessed the equipment to keep such numbers. It doesn't have the personnel, either."

"Must be something we haven't seen or encountered yet." Jondum Bau thought it over, thumbing the side of his jaw once more. "But I believe Sam is correct; collecting this number of children from a variety of locations would be too risky. This has been going on too long for no one to notice, especially with numbers. No, children are being bred here. Somehow."

"Shit... they had the babies drugged to sleep with cranial collars on the ship, didn't they?" Collins remembered the cargo container, seeing such tiny little bodies strapped to uncaring metal tables, trapped in more ways than one. "They could easily do that to the mothers. Biological incubators, essentially. Doesn't take many guards to keep watch over a vegetable. Or replace fluid bags in an IV."

"No, it wouldn't." Tela Vasir answered, looking slightly grey. "Goddess, I want to watch this place burn."

"Not enough oxygen or magnesium in the atmo." Sam reminded the Asari, though she agreed with the sentiment completely. "Chemically-asleep patients wouldn't require much space or special equipment. You could probably put rollers on their beds for more efficiency, especially in this gravity."

 _"Vrak."_ Collins was going to have to ask what that meant at a quieter moment. "That would make sense. Never seen anything like it, though."

"Well, I guess there's only one real way to find out now, is there?" Sam slapped her helmet back on with a little more force than necessary as she sealed it and readied her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle. "Someone needs to find out what's going on, and that's us. There may be a whole deal of people counting on us right now, and I'm not going to fail them."

"Agreed." Nihlus growled, his mandibles clenched against his jaw, practically grinding against it. That he was enraged was putting it mildly, but thankfully he was keeping it contained, being the professional that he was. Collins only hoped he wouldn't straight out execute whoever was in charge of this place.

Because he if tried? She doubted she would bother trying to stop him.

"We've got living domiciles up ahead." Deputy Samantha Collins called out over the communicator after she consulted the schematics for the Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700, looking at the readout for the fourth floor. It seemed that the top floor was meant for living quarters and colony operations, with little in the way of storage or maintenance facilities. They had ascended the last set of stairs, the climb making Sam's calves ache from the gravity and her own exhaustion. Lord only knew how much she had walked all over the surface of the planet, but doing it at double-weight in an assault operation was draining her. _One last floor, not much farther to go_ , she reminded herself. "Looks like an apartment complex's worth of rooms."

 _"Copy."_ Nihlus Kryik replied quietly as the Turian Blackwatch Commando covered them at a corner that led towards the corridor that contained them. It was one-sided, the other wall being the bulkhead of the pre-fab colony facility. It certainly made their job easier. _"I see one access way. Probably the main door for the entire living quarters."_

"It matches the schematics." Collins nodded, minimizing the holographic window and reducing her Omnitool. "It's in a grid pattern with plenty of rooms to choose from. That's going to be hell to clear out." Apartment complex was putting it mildly; it looked like one of those old remnant Communist community villas with a hundred domiciles per floor, cramming as much living space into a set floor pattern. "Drones will be handy."

 _"Agreed."_ Jondum Bau replied through his helmet, queuing up his Omnitool to ready some program. _"Breech first so that I may assess the proper protocols for what is needed."_

 _"Understood."_ Tela readied herself by stalking down the hallway, her Armali Council Disciple Offensive Shotgun pointed down the corridor as Nihlus came next, the taller Turian having his Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle aimed over her head, able to engage with two weapons at the same time. Jondum was next, his Ariake Technologies' M-90 Indra automatic sniper rifle out as well, though aimed to one side to prevent flagging and fratricide. Sam Collins brought up the rear guard, following Bau while walking in a sort of shuttle-step shuffle that would allow her to see what was going on in front of her and behind the team by merely turing her head left and right, her hands holding onto her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle at the ready. Bau stopped just to her right as the team stacked up on the entrance, Collins turning to face the rear as she put her left foot right next to Bau's; if he moved forward, she would pivot and assault the corridor with the rest of the team, guarding their back until that moment. _"Assault in three."_ Tela called out, announcing the time hack; three seconds and counting.

The stack moved in.

Sam pivoted as soon as she felt Jondum's foot leave her own, turning towards the assault as she followed Jondum Bau in, the SPECTREs pushing into the room. The Deputy entered through the door only to find that the corridor or wherever it was was dark; no lights were on. Thankfully, Sam knew the stack order and her position, so she didn't necessarily need to 'see' where to go to know where to be as she took her position.

"Fuck. Can't see anything." Collins admitted, seeing nothing but the mute glow of illumination from the previous corridor was providing only a couple of meters of sight. Everything else was pitch black. "Don't have any night-vision or thermals." If she had armor from the Systems Alliance Marines or the Navy Ground Assault Teams, it would come with at least night-vision or low-light enhancement mod to her helmet. As a Marshal Deputy... she had a helmet. "Going to tactical lighting." Sam moved her left hand up to turn on the taclight that was attached to the bottom of her weapon's barrel.

 _"Sam! No!"_ Kryik called out, but she had already flicked the switch to the on position, bringing about a narrow arc light used for illumination. The beam didn't hit a wall or a room, but a large space that the taclight hardly touched the other side of. A quick sweep of her sector of fire showed her a large pile of something in the middle of the room, something irregular-shaped. Sam frowned as her lowered her weapons' muzzle slightly, not seeing anything resembling a target. Her taclight was shining on the floor in between herself and the pile.

The pool of light was shining on a very small foot.

"Wha..." Collins looked at the puddle of light illuminating what was a blue foot, laying inexplicitedly on the floor. Automatically, she used the light to track what it was attached to, and she saw an Asari baby. Her heart skipped a beat as her taclight illuminated the baby, looking around the age of a newborn, lying still. The baby Asari looked very much asleep... except her eyes were open. Limbs still. Eyes staring at nothing.

"No..." The Deputy felt herself slowly sinking to her knees as she looked at the Asari baby, lying there dead. She lifted her taclight to the pile that she had passed over before, the irregular shape having not made any sense to her before. Now that her light was on it, she had a much better sense of what it was. "No..." Sam felt the sting of hot tears burning her eyes as her lower lip trembled, a sob escaping her. _"No..."_ She had thought she had seen the worst of it back on the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel, with the babies on the vessel in induced comas, ready for shipment and sale. She was wrong. Dear God... she was _so_ wrong.

The pile was a mountain of very tiny corpses.

"I'm sorry..." Collins keened as she sobbed, her body wracked with sorrow as she saw a sight more terrible and horrifying that she could have ever imagined. Slavery, despite its cruelty, was a service of life; no one made a profit killing potential slaves. Slavers honestly spent half their energy keeping slaves alive as much as they did in line. But the barbarity of what she was seeing was beyond the scope of her imagination, beyond the sense of what she thought the galaxy could do. Never had she expected to walk into something so... cruel, so evil, so _despicable._ "I'm so fucking sorry..." The Deputy buried her helmeted face into her armored hands, her rifle clattering to the ground in front of her, the gesture worthless as she cried, the sight of so many dead babies feeling as if her heart was literally bleeding in her chest and her soul torn out from her. She couldn't even guess the numbers, but she had to think that they were in the hundreds, representing so many races of the galaxy. Though the taclight on her weapon was now pointed in a different direction than the pile, Sam could still see the sight in her mind's eye.

Bodies discarded so carelessly, as if a pile of trash. Babies...

"W-why?" Sam cried out, holding herself as she rocked back and forth, her heart feeling as if it were crushed in her chest. She sobbed as she rocked herself, uncaring if the others heard her. What she saw was beyond devastating. It was the complete athamia to what it meant to be a cop, to being a human being. Who would be so cruel to do something so heartless to defenseless babies? The very future that everyone worked for? Strove for? She felt more than heard the sound of two feet stand next to her, and through her tears Sam saw two taloned feet standing by her. She looked up to see Nihlus Kryik standing beside her, a comforting taloned hand resting on her shoulder. She clutched onto it like a lifeline to prevent herself from drowning in grief and sorrow from the tragedy that was unfolding in front of her. She didn't even know when she did it or why, but she soon found herself standing up and holding onto the Turian as she buried her helmeted head against his armored chest plate, her emotions too raw and strong for her to control, to force into some level of containment. Her arms were wrapped around the Turian's more narrowed waist as she held onto him, sobbing and crying as she felt a clatter of armored talons placed themselves against the back of her helmet, holding onto her, comforting her.

 _"I'm sorry, Sam."_ The flanged voice came softly, his sub-harmonics rough, the first she had really ever heard them. _"I wanted to spare you this sight."_

"I know." The Deputy sob, sniffling as she tried to choke back her grief, to get herself under control. It still felt as if her heart was being twisted inside her chest. God she wanted to throw up and burn this place to the ground! The Centurion had tried to warn her when she went to turn on her taclight, but by then it had been too late. That he cared to try meant something to her. It was what she needed for a moment such as this; a beacon of hope and light in a season of wither. "Thank you." That she was clinging onto a Turian like she would a human man in a time of need never occurred to her. He was friend... that was the first time she had that thought. Yeah, he was a friend; she trusted him. Through this whole ordeal, he had been there, right by her side and at her back, in more than just combat. He didn't judge her, he didn't coddle her, and he certainly didn't seem to care if she were human or not. He was a rock, a presence she had come to rely upon, especially with the terrible revelations she was suffering during this op. "Thank you, my friend." She felt like it needed to be said, and she meant it. Sam slowly released the Turian as she looked up into his darkened visor, the darkness of the room making him a silhouette, the outline of a giant Turian. That might have frightened another human, but not her. _"Honoratiori amico."_ She used the Common Cipritine word for 'valued friend', knowing that it _wouldn't_ translate; he would hear her call him that in his own language. She wanted to get the point across. The darkened visor looked at her for a long moment, no words coming over from her communicator; not from Nihlus, nor the other two SPECTREs. Shit, she hoped she hadn't offended him or anything.

 _"This life has its hardships, as you can imagine."_ The Centurion began, his words soft, his tone gentle. _"I could count the people I trust that are not my brother or sister SPECTREs on just one hand."_ That meant three, Sam realized with a shiver. _"I would say I need two hands now._ Friend." The English word was accented and flanged, and sounded more like ' _free-and_ '. But the point came across. For a Turian to even try? That was saying a lot.

"Thanks." Sam was grateful that her helmet hid the growing blush on her cheeks. If there had been another human to overhear their conversation, there'd probably be some yelling and scream, and she was glad there wasn't. Things were rather stressful as it were without the extra drama. "Give me a minute to collect myself. This... hurt." She didn't need to indicate what she meant, the sight of all those poor children just a few meters away from them. God, that sight would probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

 _"I understand."_ The Turian replied, a gentle hand going onto her shoulder once more. _"Believe me, I'm doing my best to keep myself in check as well. A very large part of me wants to tear through this facility and tear things into pieces."_ Collins didn't doubt that. _"You are doing well, Sam, whatever you might think. A lesser being would have given up or given in. You do yourself credit. I'll admit that I look forward to the future where this isn't just a temporary measure of cooperation. I look forward to calling you 'sister'."_

 _"As do I, Maiden."_ Tela inputted, the Asari speaking up.

 _"I as well."_ Jondum agreed, the Salarian nodding his helmeted head. _"Much work and improvement will be required, but what matters is already there, born inside. Something that can never be taught, but grown and nurtured."_

"I... thanks." She didn't know what else to say, but the approval of these aliens, these SPECTREs... the grief was pushed back, the pain lessened. This had already happened, this evil act. While Sam wished she had discovered it before, that really couldn't have been the case, just wishful thinking. She never would have figured it out with just one flight of that _Kolwoon_ transport ship, just a singular discrepancy that could easily be seen as a clerical error, not even noticed. She had done her job, done it right and well, and now she was here because of it. Hell, she had evidently gone above and beyond, if what Nihlus said was true about her ability to match ships going through Relays. This was her first opportunity to stop something, and she had found something that would have practically any and every government and law enforcement agency clamoring for blood. It hadn't been SPECTREs, STG, C-SEC, or even the Office of Naval Intelligence that had found it. It had been a rookie cop, her first month on the job. She had discovered it, and she had _plenty_ of reasons to stop it. Someone was going to pay, and Sam didn't doubt that there would be a good deal of people from many sectors that would hunt down this criminal syndicate operation like wolves.

The law was going to stand tall this day.

"We've got work to do." Collins took in a deep breath, calming her torn heart and scarred soul, thinking of those bodies and steeling herself for what was to come. Justice was due, and God had picked them to deliver it. "Let's go bag us some fucking slaver scum."

 _"With upmost pleasure."_ Bau replied, his tone dangerously eager.

* * *

Author's Note: I've talked about enslaving and indoctrinating living babies. I even just showed off a taboo; a pile of dead children, a super no-no. Now comes the final revelation as to how and why it is happening. Grab your gullets; I pulled something out of history for this one, ranging back to a terrible experiment orchestrated by the Nazis in WWII. That's about as fair warning as one can ever get when it comes to _**bad evil shit**_.

Here's the wind-up... and here's the pitch...

* * *

Deputy Sam Collins stood in a room with three SPECTREs, each of them silent after they had assaulted into the second apartment complex-like living quarters, reminiscent of the first one where the babies had been unceremoniously dumped like trash. She had been preparing herself for something that could possibly be worse than that, though her mind honestly couldn't come up with anything worse than seeing hundreds of dead children tossed like trash. She knew deep in the bottom of her heart that there was going to be another sick fucking experience in this macabre facility that she was so sick of being in, this den of criminality and depravity. How horrible it was that she would rather prefer having found a slaver camp filled with living adults trapped in pens like cattle, with pleading eyes and wails of desperation. That would have been better, even if she wouldn't have thought of it before. No, somewhere in the back of her mind and in her soul, she knew that she hadn't seen it all. It was a gut feeling, and she had been preparing herself for it when she looked up the schematic for the colony pre-fab facility and saw that there was another living quarter section on the fourth floor that they would have to clear before reaching the Administration Wing of the floor.

She would fucking see it through, no matter how bad it hurt.

And hurt it did.

"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary..." Sam looked around at the room that was at least one hundred and fifty by one hundred and fifty meters, the walls that would have made the rooms of the living quarters dismantled and removed to make one large area for ease of access. Unlike the 'storage' room where the children were, this one was well-lit and fully operational. There was no more denial or questions as to what was going on in this facility, no more mystery or revelations to reveal. They had found the truth, the purpose, the reason this facility existed in such a shitty world off in the backend of nowhere. In a sick, perverted sense, it was brilliant; everyone was caught none-the-wiser, left in the dark while this operation ran right underneath their noses. Collins briefly wondered if Marshal Bart Weathers knew of this, taking bribes from 'normal' slavers as oppose to this. She wondered if he cared. In the end, it didn't matter. There were no more tears for her to shed, no more horror that could scar her soul. She had seen the worst of it, standing in that well-lit room, discovering the fullness of the plan that ran this slaver's enterprise.

She had been right about what was going on... but she hadn't hit upon the true _genius_ of the plan.

They had found the mothers.

Table after table existed in the room, lined up and gridded in perfect symmetry for efficiency and expediency. The tables were nothing special, not much more than emergency room medical tables, Durasteel tables set upon the floor. There were over a hundred of them, easily, but a good deal less than Sam had surmised. Still, they went in rows and columns, a horrible grid that surpassed even the most evil thing that Sam could think of. Nothing could have prepared her for this, but in all honesty? She really wasn't that shocked.

Mothers strapped to tables, IV's set into appropriate locations for chemically induced sleep, Cranial Containment Modulators placed upon their respective heads. There were Asari, Drell, Elcor, Human, Salarian, and Turians on the tables, all completed fettered and unaware, monitoring equipment assessing their health status on a small tree of holographic screens displaying their vitals. All were female. All were asleep.

All were pregnant.

"This... isn't enough." Sam frowned, looking at the rows and columns, counting them quickly. Twelve columns, twenty rows. That was only two hundred and forty beds in total. There weren't any more large areas like this in the facility left to check or clear. After this, there was the Administration Wing, which was not that large. "Were were expecting over a thousand. This isn't a quarter of it. How... how are they getting the numbers?"

"Clones?" Council Agent Nihlus Kryik asked, his helmet off. Honestly, they had all taken their helmets off, looking upon the sight with their own eyes. None of them had really said a word after they had cleared the room of any ambulatory personnel, finding only the fettered. "Clones could produce the numbers."

"No necessary equipment available." Council Agent Jondum Bau replied quickly, looking around. "Cloning quite expensive. Not practical for slavery."

"Then..." Sam thought it over, and thought about something. Something that had to do with complications that human women had. "There's a pharmaceutical locker over there. I think I might know how their doing it. I just hope... fuck." She gulped, looking at the three SPECTREs. "I really hope I'm wrong about this." The Deputy walked over to the series of refrigerated cabinets, opening the simple lock and pulling the alumniplast doors open to see what she had expected to see; medications in bottles. Some were liquids in tamper-proof vials. Some were in plastic bottles. Some were in auto-injectors. Not really different from a pharmacy or a doctor's office, Sam noted, except that there seemed to be no control lock or biometric log sheet for access. She pulled the first clear vial she saw, seeing a stickered label upon its surface. She frowned when the writing appeared to be in some fanciful swirling runes and glyphs that she couldn't make heads or tails of. She at least could identify the language; it was Thessian Cuneiform.

"Tela? Can you read this for me?" Sam tossed the vial the meter distance to the Strike Huntress, who caught it one-handed with ease. The Council Agent read the label, frowning.

"Albashana." The Asari read the product name. "I do not know of it." Sam frowned at that as she selected another, seeing blocky square letters that looked more like glyphs. Palavenian Heiroglyphs. She mimed tossing it to Nihlus before doing so, and the Turian caught the vial as well.

"Cortinveg." Kryik read off, shaking his fringed head. "My First Responder Training in the Hierarchy didn't include pharmacology, unfortunately."

"There's got to be a clue here." Collins muttered as she grabbed another one, and was glad to see Romanized lettering, the words being in Standard Alliance English. "Lupron." That name... struck a memory within her. She had heard of it before. A cold feeling sank into her as to why she would recognize an injectible medication; the incident from a few years back. She read the parenthesized words underneath the product name, describing what kind of medication the product was suppose to be. "FSH analogue Gonadotripin."

Fuck.

"We can look these up on our ExtraNet connection with our ship..." Nihlus began, but Sam cut him off.

"No need. I know what this is." Collins shook the vial, her tone defeated. "I've heard of it before, back... back when I was living in the orphanage." She turned to look at the three SPECTREs. "There was this orderly who was a facility caretaker where I lived when I wasn't adopted for... medical reasons." Sam closed her eyes, trying to ignore that old hurt. "He was a pervert; someone who had an unhealthy interest towards females." She had to explain for Nihlus and Tela's sakes when they shook their head, not understanding the idiom. "Because he was a caretaker, he had access to certain other departments in my orphanage, one of them being the nurse's station. He had put in an order for a medication called 'Lupron' on one of the supply requests, and it had gotten ordered because he had signed a doctor's name on it and no one thought to look up a never-before ordered medication on a supply request." Sam felt the tug of memory from her past, something that had changed her life, and not really for the better. "The medication got ordered, and the orderly easily got a hold of it. His next act was to... was to start adding it into the bottles of water that he would place in the girl's dormitory; an act of kindness with a much more sinister reason behind it."

"Was it a... what do the humans on the Citadel call it? 'Date rape' drug?" Nihlus asked, his tone ugly.

"Not... exactly." Sam looked at the innocuous-looking vial with its clear liquid. How much pain and suffering had been caused by such an innocent little item? "Lupron is a FSH analogue Gonadotripin. In Engli... in _laymen's_ terms," Collins corrected herself, "it means that it's a follicle-stimulating hormone meant to increase the production of estrogen produced by the hypothalamus. Estrogen being the chemical that regulates feminine-related biology in human women." That was what the Pfizer homepage said the drug did, in clinical terms. Such an innocent little description. "The orderly thought that increasing estrogen production in young adult women would make them... more promiscuous, more willing to mate." The three SPECTREs nodded at that, understanding that term, at least. "Which it did. But Lupron isn't a date rape drug. It's a _fertility_ drug.

"It's meant to cause ovarian hyperstimulation."

"That is egg production." Jondum Bau piped up, frowning. "Human females lay eggs? I thought you were viviparity-based species. Bearing live young." Collins vaguely remembered that term from Gymnasium Biology. Oviparity meant egg-laying, which was what Hanar, Salarians, and Turians were. While Asari were technically a viviparity species, Collins had no idea how a species was able to procreate with other sentient species from various corners of the galaxy, much less with its own kind when lacking a bigendered phylum. She wasn't about to ask, either.

"Our ovaries produces egg zygotes that turn to fetuses when germinated in our wombs." Sam explained quickly, still holding the drug in her hand. "Lupron was invented to help women conceive children who suffered fertility or reproduction issues. One of the known side effects was ovarian hyperstimulation; multiple ovum maturing and cycling through the menstruation cycle. It's... actually kind of a common occurrence to hear about a mother who tried for years to have children to find herself with twins or triplets because of polyzygotic ovulation." Sam placed the vial back in the cabinet. "And that's for women who have _trouble_ conceiving. What happens when you give a fertility drug to a perfectly normal, perfectly healthy woman with peak hormone production?"

All three SPECTREs turned their heads to look at the females laying on the tables. Sam didn't need to; she had seen it before back in her orphanage. She had been one of the precious lucky ones.

"I think that's what's happening here." The Deputy continued as she walked towards a table that contained a human woman. Sam approached the woman... no, the _young_ woman, eyes opened but blank, void within. A holographic monitor by her table showed multiple numbers that pulsed once a second, changing at times, but at a steady rate. Heartbeats. There was at least nine of them. Collins frowned as she looked at the young woman in question, struck by the fact that she didn't look much older than Sam, perhaps younger. Yet her naked body was obviously heavily pregnant; her belly jutted out huge, dark stretch marks decorating almost every inch of skin along her taunt abdomen, her belly button sticking out obscenely.

"I thought the numbers were off, but they aren't; the _method_ was to make baby farms, like what you see on Earth in kennels. They're literally farming children, turning these mothers," Sam swept her hand over the room, "into very fertile incubators. Twins are rare among humans, and triplets even more so. This woman is having _eight_ children," Tela gasped at that while Nihlus growled, "and judging by the stretch marks on her breasts and how dark her nipples are, I'm guessing this isn't her first pregnancy." Sam looked down at the woman in question, a vegetable. She placed a gentle hand on the woman's exposed forehead, where the Cranial Containment Modulator didn't cover. A part of her wanted to rip off the band and tear out the IV's. A part of her was absolutely frightened to do so. What would she say to this young woman who might wake up within a minute, to find herself so grossly pregnant, with no memory of how it happened?

It was almost a fate Collins shared just a few years before. That incident was what made her want to be a cop.

"Goddess..." Tela Vasir was just shaking her head, looking at the tables, and a look of abject horror across her blue, tattooed features. "What of that other room?" That was obviously a kinder reference to the room in which the babies had been tossed into. Sam thought about it, knowing at least one issue that came up with multiple pregnancies.

"Live birth viability. The only races I know geared towards having multiple children at once are the Krogan and the Salarians." As Sam understood it, Salarian Dalatresses would lay their gel-skinned eggs into breeding pools in which temperatures and mineral saturations were under complete control to ensure maximum viability for the clutch. She remembered hearing that a Salarian could lay up to two clutches a year, at about fifty or so eggs a year. Everyone else save the Krogan were on par with humanity; ninety-nine percent of pregnancies resulting in just one child, and a rare one bearing two or even the rarer three conceived fetuses. "Having multiples at once is a risk. Combining the use of fertilities drugs, far exceeding even the biological limit of developing fetuses, and then having them gestate and give birth on a high-gravity world like Revan? Without looking at notes or having evidence on hand, I would guess that there are a fair percentage of children that don't survive; the gravity, the stresses... defects." That word hurt to say, but she said it anyhow because it would be true. She had noted the horizontal line that bisected the young woman's stretched belly, resting in between her navel and her groin. It took her a moment to realize what it was, but it actually made sense. "This... is a Caesarian Section scar. It avoids vaginal birth by making an incision in the abdomen and the womb, bypassing the stress of normal live birth. Makes sense, actually, since the women are in a chemical sleep. When they go into labor, they wouldn't be able to push the fetuses out with their abdominal and uterine muscles like normal because they are in a coma. Electric stimulation is dangerous. Giving birth on a high-grav world is dangerous. A C-Section... is an elegant solution."

That told Sam that this was being done by someone who _knew_ what they were doing. Perhaps not necessarily a Medical Doctor, but someone who knew about fertility drugs and the side effects. The Deputy didn't know if the fertility drugs worked with the other species like it did with human women, or if the idea became a concept because of human women. Collins was included to agree that it was because of the numbers; human babies were being born almost at the same rate as Salarians. She had never heard of Turians or the others 'needing' fertility drugs, but she supposed they might exist. Perhaps they were being developed for this purpose alone. A Caesarian Section wasn't medically demanding; in fact, it was possibly one of the easiest surgeries to accomplish. It was simply the use of a scalpel along a portion of the stomach, cutting open the belly and womb to access the babies on the inside, pulling them out with one's hands, and then simply suturing the cut afterwards. As she understood it, it wasn't even that bloody or messy. That didn't really require a Doctor, per se, but someone who had the stomach for a deliberate cut and suturing meant someone with at least _some_ medical training; a Naval Corpsman, an EMT, a failed pre-Med student, or even certain law enforcement agents could do it. Hell, _she_ had basic medical training during her courses at the University of New Beijing. She could treat minor wounds and perform triage, like minor emergency surgery such as a tracheotomy or amputation if necessary.

"I'm thinking this is a human concept based off the numbers." Sam spoke quietly, her voice dead. "I think we were the ones with fertility drugs to begin with, and the data to get an idea how to produce it for others. I don't know how many human women they have here," she pointed to the monitor in question, "but they're able to produce eight times the normal yield. Probably not every time with every woman, but they've got data and utilization on their side for this. The numbers for the Turian females," Nihlus growled at that, but Sam continued, "means that they've made headway. There isn't three hundred and sixty females here, much less three hundred and sixty Turian females. Based off of numbers? Three to four the normal amount. Asari may not be affected, and I have no idea how they're breeding Asari daughters considering that, as I understand it, pregnancy is a conscious choice for an Asari as oppose to a biological cycle for everyone else. Maybe that's where the indoctrination comes in." Tela choked on that, her face livid. The Strike Huntress's anger wasn't aimed at her. "I don't think they're able to increase production in the Asari through drugs if there isn't a biological cycle to chemically-enhance, so perhaps they're doing it psychologically."

"It is... a possibility." The Asari SPECTRE replied, her face very dark and tight. "Goddess. What cruelty."

"Indeed." Deputy Sam Collins wasn't sure what to feel anymore. Horror after horror had been piled upon her, and she felt... numb, almost. Too much in too little time. It was as if her mind wasn't wrapping around the depravity of what she was seeing yet. Perhaps it was due to... other reasons. Either way, she didn't doubt that this incident would affect her for years to come. She looked at the human female that laid in front of her, eyes staring off in the distance as eight fetuses grew in her grotesquely-swollen abdomen, completely unaware of what was happening to her. A slave, giving birth to other slaves.

No, no more. Collins was going to find out who was responsible for this, and ensure that they paid. And she was pretty fucking certain that it was a human being.

Numbers didn't lie, after all.

* * *

A/N: And I think I'm done with the horror factor. That will be the last in the set of face-slapping barbarity. Now we're going to continue on and find out who is responsible. And for this, I dredged through canon and found a likely suspect who would find something like this quite... conceivable. You already don't like the guy, and I'm going to make you _not_ like him even more.

 _Sic Semper Criminalis_ , after all.

Lupron is a real drug, and a fertility one. Meant to enhance FSH (follicle-stimulating hormones that are created during the menstruation cycle), it increases the chance of ovum viability for pregnancy. And a side effect is indeed _ovarian hyperstimulation_ , leading to what happened to such people as Kate Gosslin (of _Scott and Kate Plus 8_ , who was technically affected _twice_ ; her first pregnancy producing twins, and her second sextuplets). There are others out there, but I picked Lupron out of a variety because I know that FSH is an actual chemical produced through the hypothalamus in the menstrual cycle, and that Lupron aids in the manufacturing of it by 'tricking' the body to make much more than necessary, increasing fertility and the odds of proper ovulation. See? I used science!

I mention that Sam is from an orphanage. I wanted to create a non-Shepard character, but had to think of something that wasn't Earthborn, Spaceborn, or Colonyborn. Since that covers a huge swath of everything, I went with a history that wasn't mention; orphan. I planned the details out some time ago; where she's from, how her parents died, her childhood, etc. Surprisingly enough, there is no canon character that has a history like hers, so Sam will be unique in that regard. This history will be pretty plot-intensive at times, and story-driven. It will be used as a basis of her character and personality once it is mentioned, but I'm saving that little revelation for a good cliffhanger moment. Because we like hanging off of cliffs.

The incident that Sam mentions of a hormone-induced date rape drug (like increasing estrogen for promiscuity) is _somewhat_ plausible, though estrogen actually has very little to do with the _want_ for procreation, just feminine biological processes. Unfortunately, too much estrogen can cause hormonal surges that may, in fact, lead to the maternal instinct to 'mate'. I remember reading somewhere that some motherfucker was actually doing this; giving estrogen-enhancing drugs to increase libido to teenaged women in some care facility years ago. I don't remember the details at all except that I think I was a teenager at the time when I read it. I just remember how sick it sounded. And yes, the Nazis did do some experimentation on this kind of thing. I know I grew up hearing the stories of some of their twisted experiments.


	9. Revan, IX

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175**

Author's Notes: And we're off to see the asshole, the wonderful asshole of Oz! Because, because, because, because of the sick shit that he does...

If you've gotten this far, you know you're itching to see who the _capo_ is. But you'll be wrong. Because I am devious and purposefully like twirling my moustache and laughing like a James Bond villain at your plight. Read forth, brave viewer, and behold my evilness.

Ahem, back to the story. (but you know you'll be singing that later, because it's catchy)

* * *

Double-gravity and exhaustion weighed on her body, fatigued after so many hours on the high-grav world of Revan. Depraved sights and macabre experiments were etched on her mind, revelations of a twisted plan brought to fruition. Horror and revulsion weighed on her soul, the realization on just how much evil could be done in the galaxy when everyone was left none-the-wiser. She had cried from the pain, vomited from the abominable practices, shivered at the soul-twisting pain with every revelation, and felt her whole life shake at what she had discovered just because of a few mismatched numbers. She had been shot at and almost killed at least half-a-dozen times from rounds, explosives, and even a bloodraging Krogan. Somewhere deep inside, she knew this to be one of the darkest days of her life, a day that, no matter what, would never truly made right. There was not enough justice or retribution in the galaxy to correct what this facility had contained and concealed. But she was here, and despite it all, she would see it through to its aftermath.

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins gripped her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle in her hands, her ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle magnetically placed upon her chest, ready to be switched out if needed.

She stood in an assault stack with three Council Agents; SPECTREs that she had learned to rely upon and trust during her time with them on the toxic soup world of Revan in the Thermopile System. There was Centurion Nihlus Kryik, a member of the Hierarchy Blackwatch and Council Agent, gripping his Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle in his talons, his helmet hardly able to disguise the cold fury in his frame and in his flanged voice. There was Strike Huntress Tela Vasir, one of the Asari's vaulted Huntresses and Council Agent, holding her Elite Arms CS-18 Rapidstrike Submachine Gun in her hands, the weapon held tight against the armored breasts of her chest plate. There was STG Infiltration Technician Jondum Bau, a Special Tasks Group Operative and Council Agent, his ever-present Ariake Technologies M-90 Indra Automatic Sniper Rifle cradled in his three-fingered hands, as cool and as professional as one could expect from a Special Forces Warrior. And then there was her, Deputy Samantha Collins, an Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy, the smallest, youngest, most inexperienced and least trained member among such vaulted operatives. They were here because of her. She was here because of this.

Their intent was clear; to stop what had been so painfully revealed to them.

The stack stood at the last door of the last room they had yet to clear in this million square meter facility, the Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700 colony pre-fab that been the compound to contain such tribulations. Every room of each of its four floors had been breached and cleared. Every corner had been swept and checked. Every opponent they had faced had been apprehended or killed. Now the operation was at its last steps, and each of them knew they had yet to meet the mastermind to this macabre operation. This was about more than just slavery and those who swore to stop it. This was more than just about law or justice, those who swore to uphold it against those who decided to flaunt it. This was more than just an operation. It was about all that was good going against all that was evil. There was no better day than today to reaffirm such vows and oaths, to stand against darkness and depravity, to fight against injustice and immorality. There was no better fight than this, against such who saw biological entities as some sort of means of earning money and gaining power, to play God.

Today was the day where the law would stand tall.

 _"On three."_ Nihlus Kryik spoke softly over the communicator, the advanced-encryption protocols ensuring that their words weren't listened to, the power levels reduced to help prevent even its signal from being detect to alert others of their presence. Not one of them doubted that whoever _they_ were knew that someone was coming for them, but time was just as much in their favor as it was for those who ran this facility. It would play on _their_ nerves just as much as it would on the SPECTREs and Deputy. But the time for discoveries, revelations, emotions, and waiting had come to an end. They were there; the boss level, as it were. Behind this door would certainly contain whomever was responsible, the person in charge. Each of them could feel it in their souls that behind this door would be the mastermind to this plot. Each was ready to face that sapient being, to look upon the face that was the cause to all this.

Revenge, after all, was a dish best served with bullets.

 _"One."_

Sam did her best to control her breathing, ready to assault the room that was labeled 'Operations' on the schematics for the pre-fab facility, what looked to be a standard-sized office for a colonial mayor or governor. Ten meters by ten meters. It could hold as many as thirty assailants, if necessary. Booby-traps were a possibility, too.

 _"Two."_

Fear, rage, nervousness, anticipation flooded through her body as the Deputy fought to slow her rapidly beating heart, adrenaline surging through her blood, the feel of sweat beading on her skin under her Devlon Industries' Explorer Light Armor despite the thermoregulators in her sealed hardsuit unable to overcome her biological response to fight-or-flight. There would be no flight, today.

 _"Three."_

Like a well-oiled machine, the four-operative stack breeched through the door into the Operations Room, skill and tactics leading them as the Blackwatch Commando was first through the fatal funnel, a veteran of such exploits as Breech and Assault, the Strike Huntress, STG Operative, and Marshal Deputy following his lead. They trusted one another in a way that only occurred on battlefields and operations. Despite the differences in their species and training, each held in regard for the other, to trust them to do their job while each did their own. Respective fields of fire and arcs of engagements were followed by protocols made universal throughout Council Space in an effort to make a more efficient warrior as the best and most proficient tactics were written and practiced, flaws corrected and superiority gained. Four lethal warriors entering a room with no knowledge of what laid in it was a tactic that each race had used for hundreds, if not thousands of years through various militaries and situations, one of the deadliest scenarios that could reasonably be expected. Each knew their position and role, the expectations and reliance, to have one's back and to trust their own to another. They entered into Operations, threading through the door and getting into their respective positions with speed and alacrity, despite the gravity and nerves, despite the discoveries and rage. Each was an expert in their own fields of their own rights, and each had proven it a dozen times over to one another.

This was the accumulation of all they had suffered, the line in the sand.

They found their target.

Waiting for them.

 _With a smile._

* * *

"Impressive." Came the voice of someone that Deputy Sam Collins hadn't expected as she stood to the left flank of the assault team, Strike Huntress Tela Vasir just to her right as the Deputy trained her 2169 Lawbringer upon the first target that was in her assigned line-of-fire. The first two seconds of the assault was dedicated into breaching and entering the room, clearing the fatal funnel that the access door represented, and getting into the assigned position under the possibility of withering suppressive or tactically-placed return fire. No rounds had been fired, but that didn't mean that the danger wasn't present. In fact, someone had gone and upped the ante as the seconds ticked by and Sam's eyes swept the room, finding herself in a scenario that all cops feared.

A hostage situation.

Nine sapient beings stood opposite of the SPECTRE assault team, four of them with firearms, though none of them were aimed at the SPECTREs or Deputy. Instead, the various weapons being held by the Batarian hostage-takers were held against their hostages. Not to their heads. Not to their backs.

To their _bellies_.

Sam's eyes widened as she saw who and what the hostages were, almost in awe of the plan, no matter how cruel and evil. Four females had been brought to the Operations Room, woken up from their chemical sleep and revived to full cognition. Each was of a different species; a human woman, a Turian female, an Asari Maiden, and a Salarian Dalatrass with a gag were held hostage with what appeared to be Elite Arms Retaliator Shotguns pressed into the abdomens of each of the females. The human woman and Asari Maidens' bellies were huge with child, while the Turian females' own normally-tapered waist was thick, almost as wide as her shoulders. The Dalatrass... well, Sam couldn't tell the difference, but she didn't doubt assuming that the Salarian female was pregnant, if the other three were. If there was anything that would stop a law-oriented person from exacting justice, it was a hostage situation. A pregnant female only magnified that scenario.

"Please, please you've got to help me!" The human woman cried, her eyes right at Sam, obviously having recognized the human of the group. Tears stained her cheeks as her hands cradled her enormous belly, not even dressed. Her breasts were engorged and decorated with stretch marks, and her belly looked like it was ready to pop like an overfilled balloon at any moment. "What's happening to me? Where am I at? Please..." The woman sobbed, crying hard as the Batarian pressed the barrel into her enlarged abdomen a little harder, pressing it into the taunt skin. Collins could hear the other females pleading as well, though she couldn't understand the Asari Maiden, and the Salarian Dalatrass was gagged from talking.

"Oh... oh fuck..." Sam whispered to herself as she kept her weapon trained on the Batarian holding his shotgun into the belly of the Dalatrass. She dare not move her weapon to any of the others, especially towards the Batarian who was holding his own weapon on the human weapon. Any false moves, any kind of indication of action would have those women shot in the stomach, killing the females and their children.

"Entertaining. One and all."

The smile that appeared upon the thin gash that represented the lips of their primary target held no humor or emotion on them, merely a muscular response of superiority as dark oval eyes studied each and every one of them, flitting back and forth to them at a speed and clarity that would be considered a nervous twitch among human beings. If, of course, the being in question was a human being.

Sam found herself looking at a fast reflexes, fast-thinking, highly intelligent Salarian.

"So wonderful you should come." The Salarian male announced from behind a desk, standing as oppose to sitting, as if a gentleman. He rubbed at one of auditory horns, as if in contemplation with a three-fingered hand, nimble fingers stroking the Salarian earport like a man would rub at his earlobe in thought. "Yes, delightful. That such renowned specialists would come seeking me, attempting to foil my plans and designs. Such an event!" Great, a Salarian mastermind type. Sam was uncomfortably reminded of human vid troupes about mad Salarian masterminds, cackling as they gave off James Bond-villainesque explanations of their master plan. It was obvious that the Salarian was the one in charge; he was talking, after all.

"We should plug them now." One of the Batarians' voiced, the one holding the Turian female. Unlike the others, his hostage was actually big enough for him to actually effectively hide behind, considering that Batarians were nearly of the same size as Asari. The one hiding behind the Dalatrass was barely covered at all, consider that she was merely tall, yet very lithe. "But leave the monkey to me." The four sinister eyes of the Batarian in question were all on her, malevolent and soulless. Collins noted that his armor appeared to be of better quality than the others; thicker, with more pieces attached. That one wasn't a lackey.

"Ship's Captain, I think. Pan'mekk." She remembered the message that her Marshal had sent, discovered on the _Kolwoon_ -Class vessel. The Captain's name had been Pan'mekk, a Batarian name. Better armor and not talking like a lackey? Captain, most likely.

"And spoil the surprise we have in store for them?" The Salarian commented, smiling once more with that soulless smile. "It would be interesting to see how it was they discovered this facility. I covered our tracks well, and nobody talked." His eyes went to Sam. "Your Marshal was not very informative in how it was you discovered our location, save that you somehow tracked our ship from your post on Therum. Most interesting, human, most interesting indeed." His eyes went to the SPECTREs. "The guests that you brought were also a surprise. Most resourceful of you, human, calling the Office of Special Tactics to your aid. You truly are a credit to your species, Deputy Collins. Admirable, really."

Great, a Salarian with delusions of grandeur. She had fully stepped into a _Blasto!_ vid.

"I'll make a deal with you, human." The Salarian's eyes narrowed as he stared at her and only her, completely brushing aside the three SPECTREs with the high-powered weaponry as if they weren't even there. "Tell me how you locate this facility, and I let one person of your choice leave this facility with you alive, hostage or SPECTRE." One of the Batarian gunmen chuckled at that as he prodded the Asari Maiden's belly, making her whimper in fear. "A fair deal, letting two live. Not many in the galaxy can say that they have met Doctor VorhenNisuses Ben Vares Tol Ingree Saleon and lived to tell about it."

 _Great, a MAD Salarian scientist with delusions of grandeur! Where's the cat that needs petting when you need it?_

"Is... that name suppose to mean something to me?" Sam asked out loud, her helmet's speaker turned on. The Salarian just looked at her like she was demented. "Seriously, I thought some human was doing this because of the fertility drugs, considering we've been using them for the past two centuries." She noted that a couple of the Batarian flunkies were looking... impatient.

 _"Keep talking. Bore them."_ Bau whispered over the communicator. The Salarian STG Operative must have noticed, too. _"Wait for my mark."_

"You do not know who I am?" The Salarian Doctor looked aghast at the thought, his black eyes widening as a real emotion began to appear; indignation mixed with lividity. "I am the one who created a fertility drug for _all_ species so that we may produce more slaves! No more expensive raids or running! No more bribes or..."

"Boooooring."

One of the Batarians got a chuckle out of that. The Doctor glared at the offending lackey for a second before returning his attention back to Sam. Now the Salarian _really_ looked offended.

"This plan was _flawless!_ " Saleon screamed, his head almost twitching left and right; probably a sign of rage. "For four years, everything was _perfect_! Breeding slaves! Selling them at premium prices for longetivity and breeding capabilities! Cutting into cost not having to scour worthless destitutes for dregs and the unwanted to capture on colonies none the wiser! All the slaves that the Hegemony could ever want! All the test subjects that the Union could ever need! Target practice for the Hierarchy!" The Salarian was practically frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. "And some backwards _monkey_ somehow stumbles onto my macheons as if she is my intellectual superior?"

"Does he pay you guys to listen to this shit? I mean that's... bad dialogue out of a third-rate plot in a _Blasto!_ flick. I've seen better on the SyFy Network, honestly."

 _Two_ Batarians actually chucked at that one. The third one was snickering. Pan'mekk's four eyes narrowed on her even further. The Asari Maiden's face looked so shocked that Sam was surprised she didn't have a premature contraction on the spot.

"You shut your _con'desh_ mouth, monkey bitch." The Captain said, his shotgun going from the Turian female's belly to pointing at her at a distance of less than four meters; more than close enough to be potentially lethal. The Elite Arms Retaliator Shotgun wasn't like some of the less-than-standard weapons they had seen assaulting the colony pre-fab building, in the hands of the cannon-fodder on previous levels. No, it was a serious combat shotgun that was well known to break shields and pierce armor and flesh. One shot with that could kill her at that distance. Everyone was paying attention to Pan'mekk's forceful display; the lackeys, Saleon, and Pan'mekk himself. The lackeys' weapons weren't pressed against the bellies of the hostages anymore, having drifted away from the drama unfolding before them.

 _"Mark."_

Five bursts of gunfire echoed through the room at the same time.

Four Batarians dropped to the ground, dead or incapacitated.

The four hostages stood there shivering and naked as the Khar'shanians that had been holding them dropped to the floor from the headshots that had struck them. None of the Batarians had been wearing helmets, and the lack of protective cover meant that their kinetic shields didn't extend to their skulls. When the bursts of gunfire came from the three SPECTREs and one human Deputy occurred, there was nothing to protect them. Such was the testament of their accuracy that, during the high level of stress felt during a hostage situation, the bursts of gunfire from the Vapor Assault Rifle, CS-18 Rapidstrike Submachine Gun, and M-90 Indra Automatic Sniper Rifle were all on target and immediately lethal, and the lone 2169 Lawbringer's single non-lethal round struck the Batarian holding the Salarian Dalatrass right between his upper pair of eyes, snapping his head back from the shock of the round, knocking him back and out. Doctor Vorhen Saleon's eyes had gone wide as his thin slit of a mouth popped open, the Salarian Doctor's jaw dropping open. So much for masterminds.

But there had been five shots, only four of them coming from the SPECTRE assault team.

Deputy Sam Collins felt her hands begin to shake as the Lawbringer slid out of her nerveless hands, feeling as if someone had shoved several burning hot fireplace pokers into her abdomen, the shock of it slowly becoming apparent to her. She grunted as the pain grew within her, a burning sensation that felt like it was _inside_ of her. The assault rifle clattered to the ground to her feet as one of her hands instantly went to her belly, where the growing pain was centered. She looked at her armored hand, and it came back red.

 _"Sam? Sam!"_ Nihlus's voice came quick and harsh as she tried to turn to him, to ask him why it was hurting, why _she_ was hurting, but the words came out a senseless series of vowels as her leg muscles quivered and turned to jelly, unable to support her. She started to fall, but was caught before she hit the floor, a pair of taloned hands catching her before she reached the floor, easing her to the ground. That was nice of Nihlus; she was feeling pretty tired, actually.

"N-Nihlus?" Sam looked at the helmeted head, seeing how it kept the fringe armored, looking so sleek and intimidating, like an alien version of death's head looking back at her with its darkened visor and ergonomically-designed features. Why were her lips trembling? They were nowhere near the pain in her belly that seemed to be growing. "H-hurts." It was all she could say. Why was she trembling?

 _"Relax,_ amico _."_ The Turian purred, his tone calming, friendly. That was nice. Sam tried to smile, her mouth stretching out in a mimicry of the action, feeling more like a rectus grin than a real smile. _"Just lie down."_

"O-okay." Sam touched his helmet, wishing she could see his face. His colonial markings were pretty awesome, and she wanted to see them again. Unfortunately, she had somehow stained his helmet with red. Where had the red come from?

The Batarian had been pointing a shotgun at her.

Deputy Sam Collins tried to look up, raising her helmeted head to see what had happened. Nihlus said something, some warning, but her trembling limbs and burning poker feeling didn't let her listen. Unfortunately, raising her head meant she was trying to sit up, using abdominal muscles to lift up her upper torso, much like a sit-up. Abdominal muscles that were no longer functioning.

She had been shot in the gut by the shotgun.

What pain she felt before was nothing compared to when she tried to sit up and made the many wounds in her stomach worse. Before, the pain was a ghost, like the memory of pain haunting, a sort of distant feeling that was there, but at an intellectual level.

No more. The pain amplified a thousand fold.

"N-N-Nihliss... h-h-h-hurts-s-s..." Collins whimpered as tears practically exploded from her eyes as her hands found the source of pain in her middle, desperate to press against it. God it made it feel better and worse at the same time as the raging inferno burned in her gut, feeling as if several spikes had been shoved into her belly, twisting inside of her. "H-hurts _bad..._ " She tried not to scream, but oh God she wanted to. She wanted to scream the pain away. One of her hands wormed its way into his taloned fingers as she clutched to it, desperate to hold onto something, to keep from being swept away. The talons held her hand as she looked at the helmet looking at her. "Take it off." Sam asked, looking at the helmet, wishing she could see those strange alien eyes. "Want to see _you._ " The Turian complied easily, detaching his helmet one-handed, holding onto her hand with the other, never letting go. That was nice. She found herself looking at those not-quite circular green eyes, brown-plated face with its full-faced white colonial markings. "I-I like... these. So f-f-fierce." She pointed at his markings with a hand, leaving a little red on it. The burning was there, but looking at him helped, somehow.

"Just stay still, Sam. Don't move too much." Nihlus told her gently, his voice almost cooing at her. He really was a nice guy, wasn't he? So caring and protective? "Is... is there anyone we can call?"

"C-Captain Steven Hackett. He's... the Scout Flotilla Commanding Officer of the Verge." Talking was getting harder, the pain overriding everything. Her mind felt like it was being filled with cotton. "He can get help for these females. Help them."

"I meant for you, Sam. Anyone we can call for you? Parents? Siblings? Loved ones or friends?" Nihlus asked softly, a taloned hand brushing her cheek tenderly. That was sweet of him, wanting to let someone know that she was okay. But there was no one to call.

"Just you guys. You're my family." For some reason, it felt important to say that to them. She saw Tela and Jondum looking at her, their helmets off as well. They really were so nice. Nihlus had one hand, and Tela the other. She felt like they were really bonding. "We did it, right? We won?"

"We won, sister." Tela replied, her voice thick as she blinked rapidly, streaks of indigo drawing their way down her cheeks. Wait... those were Asari tears? Such a cool color! She wished she could cry that color. "Because of you, we have saved hundreds... no, thousands of innocent lives."

"That's good." Sam coughed a little bit, and the pain really flared for a moment, but then simmered down. "That's funny. I don't actually remember the lights being that dim before?"

"Sam! Hold on, please!" Nihlus pleaded, even _begging_! Tough guy like that, begging? She almost didn't believe it. "I... I need to know where to take you if... if this is all over?" That was certainly an odd question. Did he mean a vacation?

"I'd like to see my parent's graves again. Haven't in a while." The Deputy replied, feeling her smile growing weaker, feeling weaker all over. Something must be wrong with the thermoregulator unit in her armor; she felt cold. "We can go there. It's a nice place by Neo Hong Kong in Shanxi." Her parents were buried near the town she had been born in.

"Sure. We can do that." The Turian replied softly, his flanged voice thick and strained. "I would like that, Sam."

"Me too." Funny, did the lights go dim again? Sam could hav


	10. Revan, X

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. CANADIANS..._

 **Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 03 May 2175**

Author's Note: First off… happy N7 Day! Shep turns... 9?

Second, sorry this took so long. My laptop died. Plus, pretty sure the reader/writer turnout from March 21 on dipped significantly (ahem, Andromeda). I know I indulged.

So... normally I _end_ chapters with author's notes, but for those that finished off Chapter 9 and saw that it seems to be a cutoff of words; no, that was a fuck you moment. That's how people die.

So the Author's Notes for Chapter 9 (because I wanted a fuck you moment)

Doctor Saelon, for those who might need the reminder, was Doctor Heart; Garrus' loyalty mission back in ME 1, organ-cloner and using people to grow said organs in, cutting them out and selling them on the good ol' black market. This kind of plot seemed right up his alley. The whole name that he has (which is suppose to explain place of birth, clan, city and so on) is actually Jaleel Chorban's canon name, the guy who wanted you to run around the Citadel like an idiot scanning Keepers. Only the Vorhen and Saelon are the good Doctor's (and Vorhen was created by me). I don't actually know if any other Salarian had the whole list of seven names like Chorban did. So I stole it.

And onto Chapter 10. Keep reading. We ain't done yet.

* * *

Captain Steven Hackett walked through the corridors of the Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700, flanked by Systems Alliance Marines and Naval Security Teams as the Commanding Officer of the Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla walked onto the fourth floor via a connecting stairway that would have him reach the upper level. On a high-grav world like Revan, the four flight climb was a bit of a cooker, really, and it made the Naval Captain glad that he took PT seriously. On high-grav worlds like Revan, walking was a chore. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do cardio on a ship filled with hundreds, but he managed. Climbing up the staircase and reaching the fourth floor had him puffing a little bit, admittedly.

He was getting too old for this shit.

"Set up a perimeter." He looked to his right, where a Marine Lieutenant was leading his platoon of men to secure the facility. What he had seen had him pretty damn impressed, and he was hard to impress. There were somewhere around forty or so bodies of slavers that got the fate they so richly deserved; shot to death with no mercy or qualms. According to some of the team leaders that had taken the lower floors, there were some that were apprehended, cuffed at wrist and ankle, and then the cuffs cuffed together. That was the work of a cop, and not bad work, either. Intel was intel, and the boys at ONI would have fun grilling the survivors for that intel.

It was hard for him to imagine that just four people had done this. He honestly doubted four N's could have done this.

He had gotten a message some ten hours ago over an emergency comms link meant for Alliance Personnel, be it military, law enforcement, colonial, or vessel. The message was directed towards him, so Captain Hackett had read it thoroughly before ordering his Navigator to plot the course for the entire Reconnaissance Flotilla to make way to the Thermopile System at 'fuck-the-engines' speed. They had been at the Macedon System at the time, pulling deep-space reconnaissance missions on the Batarian border, listening with deep-space probes and squadrons of flyers and drones keeping an eye on any that wished to reach into Alliance Space the long way around. The message had pertained to it details on something that Steven feared more than anything else; blacksites of slavers or criminals that had found holes and means into plying their trade with little to no knowledge of any authority of its existence. Slavery was something of a personal vendetta for him; his brother's family had been living on Mindoir when it had been reaved by Batarians, and they had simply disappeared into the black. Never fucking again.

So when he received a message of a massive slavery operation happening in his own fucking backyard, he was fully intending to slam upon it like a metric ton of bricks.

Nine hours later, the Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla had arrived in the orbit of Revan.

"Lieutenant," the Captain began, talking to the Marine once more now that a perimeter had been established, "I am going to meet an undercover operative whose clearance is higher than your own. Have your men deny access to anyone at the moment while I meet them."

"Aye aye, Skipper." The Lieutenant saluted, asking no questions. Hackett was full of shit, lying out of his teeth. There was no undercover operative, but he had been serving in the Systems Alliance military too long _not_ to have picked up on a few things to know when to ignore certain rules for the sake of all.

Besides, pissing off a SPECTRE was generally not conductive for a long life.

Hackett walked down the corridor, finding the way easily enough, following guidesigns that pointed out the direction of the Administration Wing, where the message told him to meet. He knew better to question its authenticity; the message had been signed by its sender, and he had looked up the name discretely to make sure it was legitimate. Yet the content of the message had his heart sink; if it was only a tenth true, then this colony facility was possibly the worst site in the history of the Systems Alliance, being ran and operated under their Goddamn noses. According to the message, there was help, too; corrupt cops. That had his hackles up and out, the thought of human beings aiding in such a disgusting endeavor boiling his blood, but the thought of those _sworn_ to stop such things aiding the very enemy they were said to protect against disgusted him beyond belief. He was going to get the intelligence now from the source, and then it was going to be time to roll some fucking heads. God, when Grissom heard about this shit, there would be a fucking Inquisition that would make the Spanish one look like a book club.

And then there was the one person who made that difference.

Hackett reached the door that lead to the Administration Office, tapping on it politely to gain access, the door sliding open for admittance. The Captain of the SSV _Marco Polo_ walked into the ten meter by ten meter room to find a variety of people and species filling it. Most of them still alive.

"Centurion Kryik?" He asked, seeing the Turian in Blackwatch-related armor sitting by a makeshift cot that contained a single body, that of a human woman. The Special Forces Warrior looked up from the woman, his green eyes and plated face drawn... worried? There were two others that were armed and guarding the room in a loose manner, an Asari with the look of a Huntress about her, and a Salarian with enough attachments and gismos on him to qualify him as Batman, no doubt STG. Knowing what the Turian was, he didn't doubt the other two were SPECTREs as well. They kept an eye on him, but had immediately ascertain that he wouldn't be a threat. He was only armed with his Springfield Arms XD Service Pistol, which was meant as a firearm for when shit got really FUBAR. He didn't doubt that if he tried anything stupid, that Asari shotgun or that sniper rifle the Salarian was holding would kill him before he cleared leather. They were professionals, and he could respect that. "Captain Steven Hackett, CO of the _Marco Polo_ and Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla."

"Captain." The Turian nodded, looking down at the woman on the cot for a second before standing up to greet him. Much to his surprise, the Turian stuck out his hand in an effort to shake. Hackett obliged him, wondering how a Turian knew how to do that, or why he'd bother to learn. "I hope I did that right. Only learned it today."

"It is." Hackett answered, his eyes touching the body that was on the cot, a makeshift blanket drapped over it. "I got your message, obviously. You stated that you had hundreds of slaves with the potential of thousands on your hands that needed liberating, and to bring as much medical care and facilities as I could bring. I've got two dedicated hospital ships and one of my destroyers is making room as we speak."

"Good. I think we might have enough." The Turian let off a quite-human sigh. "This facility is a slave farm, Captain. They were breeding slaves here." Hackett felt his heart drop at the confirmation. The message had suggested as such, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. But seeing the human woman dressed in what looked to be the loosest men's clothing with a grossly pregnant belly straining the confines of the shirt, as well as an Asari in the same condition? Shit. "We're talking about two hundred and sixty-four slaves, each and every one of them pregnant, ranging from weeks away from labor to just after embryo gestation."

"Fuck." There was no use deliberating about it. A slavery-oriented baby farm? That was worse than reaving a colony. A colony they could build defenses for, a raid limited only by the population. Having a steady supply of slaves born? The numbers would be astronomical, and untraceable. He looked to the human woman, who looked like she was ready to give birth right then and there, she was so pregnant. "How soon?"

"I... don't know." The woman replied, her voice meek... frightened. "I... just woke up today." The woman sniffled a little. "Is it really 2175?" That had Hackett pause. She had seriously asked the year.

"May Third." The Captain replied, feeling a cold sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh God... it was 2170 when..." The woman shivered slightly, almost flinching. "I just want to go home."

"Where's home?" Hackett asked, the year putting another chill in him.

"New Edmonton. It's a colony on..."

"Mindoir." Steven replied, feeling that old rage fill him up once more. He was looking at a Mindoir survivor who somehow missed out on something like four plus years? How the fuck had that happened? New Edmonton what where his brother Brian and his family had lived when... "Are there others here?" That question was directed to the Turian, his mandibles drooping into a frown.

"We don't know. There weren't any names, and we certainly didn't have the facilities or knowledge to care for so many." Kryik admitted, which made sense to Hackett. "We do know that the slavers were using some sort of chemically-induced coma to keep the patients asleep, and that there was a possibility that some of them have been here for some time." The SPECTRE looked to the obvious victims. "They're awake because they were being held as hostages. The rest we left alone because we simply didn't know what else to do but call for reinforcements and medical aid."

"It's a good idea when there were none to be had." Yeah, that must have been a tough decision on the Turian, considering how protective they were of mates and hatchlings. The Salarian, too. "I can have my Marines and Naval Security Team start processing and sending them up to the hospital ships ASAP. It will take time with the numbers you indicate and the conditions of the planet, but it will be done."

"We also need a Doctor." The Turian said finally, looking to the woman on the makeshift bed. "She took a shotgun blast to the stomach. We were able to move a good deal of the shrapnel, but... we don't know human anatomy well."

"Is that her? The one that discovered this whole debacle?" Hackett asked.

"Yes. Deputy Samantha Collins." The Turian dipped his head; a sign of respect, not towards him, but towards her. Interesting. "She tracked the ship, found the base's location, and was a part of this operation every step of the way. More than _us_." That had the Captain grunt. Damn, that was certainly impressive. "We've stabilized her as best we could, but we reached the extent of our knowledge."

"I understand... and thank you." Hackett told the Turian, looking the alien right in his green eyes. "If what you said is true, then she deserves the best we got. I'll get one of the surgeons down here now to assess what we can do before we move her. If there's a fighting chance in hell for her to make it, then we're going to give it everything we've got."

"Good." That came from the female Turian, whose own swollen abdomen proved her maternal condition. "If it wasn't for her, we'd still be asleep, completely unaware what was happening to our hatchlings. These hatchlings of mine," she rubbed a taloned hand over her swollen belly, "will be born free because of her. And I will forever be grateful." Hackett didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't a fan of Turians, to say the least, but that was a hell of a statement to make. Turians tended to make good on such things.

"Let me get on the conn and see what we can do." Steven promised as he looked to the injured Deputy, lying unconscious. "And then I'm calling Alliance Command. Someone is going to burn for this. For a long time. Very slowly."

"Good." The Asari Huntress said, her tone dark.

* * *

 **SSV** _ **Marco Polo,**_ **Orbit above Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 06 May 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins woke up in her medical bed, still recovering from the events of Revan as she laid in conversance in the Medical Bay of the Carrier-Class SSV _Marco Polo_ , which was hovering somewhere at LaGrange Point One high above the toxic world. She had been in and out of consciousness for the past couple of days, having received emergency surgery on her abdomen where the shotgun shrapnel had pierced her kinetic shielding, Devlon Industries' Explorer Light Armor plating, and her own tender flesh. Not only had she received hypervelocity rounds from the Elite Arms' Retaliator Shotgun when Captain Pan'mekk shot at her, but splinters of her own shattered armor had been impaled into her abdomen as well. Three surgeries and a whole host of medical knowledge and expertise later, and Sam had all the foreign debris removed from her stomach. She had unfortunately lost a small percentage of her small intestines, cut out as irreparable and the severed ends rejoined together as abdominal muscles and tissues were carefully stitched together. She was on a high regimen of antibiotics and amino acid beta-protein cocktails to speed up recovery and ensure that any bacterial infections wouldn't set in, which was a common occurrence with gut wounds, as the Deputy understood it. Lieutenant Commander Michael Phillips (M.D.) was the ships' surgeon, and he had spent something like ten hours on her wounds as Navy Corpsmen and Physician Assistants' tended to the ever-growing population of females extracted from Revan. The Marines had come to call it 'the House of Horrors', and to Sam, the name fit all too well.

She had damn near died there, herself.

Collins looked over to the bedside table next to her medical bed, and found the complimentary AppleCorps dPad resting there, its battery by the inductive charger field that ran through the Carrier. She pressed the activation button to see the Alliance News Network Homepage pop up, the highlights being scrolled on a marquee at the top as images with sort blurbs consisted of the updates. The media had been informed of the 'incident' on Revan, and somehow the Turian Heirarchy had gotten involved. Surprisingly, no battle maneuvers had been performed, and no one had shot at each other, so Sam supposed that in the interest of good will, everyone was playing nice. That was good; she had her fill of near-death experiences for the time being, and being stuck on a ship while quarantined in a medical bay did not sound entertaining at all. There was a reason she didn't enlist Navy. She scrolled past the updates related to Revan (she was there, she didn't need to be misinformed) and tried to find out what else was going on. Sadly, it seemed that ANN was blasting the incident, the atrocity _de jeur_ filling the memes and cashing in on the subscriptions and hits. Well, Sam guessed that she really couldn't blame them, considering that it was a social news network, and they were reporting the news. But seriously, would it kill them to perhaps have the EUCC scores more readily accessible? She wanted to see how the New Beijing Hoplites did against the Illyeria Storm the other day.

Being stuck in the Med Bay had Sam bored out of her mind.

Not that the Navy was treating her wrong; quite the opposite! Commander Phillips had a good bedside manner, and the various Corpsmen were all polite and dedicated to their jobs. The food was unfortunately limited to yogurt and nutrient-enhanced paste slushies (which tasted God-awful) due to her stomach surgery, and the surgeon didn't want her intestines trying to pass anything more solid than liquefied _anything_. Sam knew they were doing what was best, but she hadn't had anything solid to eat in something like three days save for the Asari meal bar Tela had given to her back on Revan. God, she would kill for a burger. Still, all things considered, Collins knew that she was in good hands, the surgeries had all gone well, and she had been assured that she would make a full recovery in less than a weeks' time with the help of a full regiment of antibiotics and amino acid beta-protein cocktails to aid in recovery and recuperation.

Despite all that had happened, and the fact that she had almost died, Sam itched for something to do. And what she wanted to do was _work_.

The door to the Med Bay opened, and Sam peeled her eyes away from her hunt for anything meaningful on the ExtraNet (a chore as is) to see who was coming in, and was more than a little surprised to see Captain Steven Hackett entering, the Commanding Officer of the Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla walking into the medical facility with his eyes looking straight at her. Though she had never actually met the Naval Captain before, only knowing of him due to the fact that she had looked up his contact information before leaving to Revan in case she ran into issues, there was no doubt who he was. The man looked to be in his early- to mid-forties, with an old scar running down the side of his face, starting at his cheek and heading towards his chin. His presence and bearing was absolute as he walked into the room, his stride pure military as he moved towards her bed. Collins turned off the dPad and set it down to give the Captain her fullest attention.

"Captain Hackett." The Deputy nodded at the CO, getting one in return. "How are things? I... sorry, you probably get asked that about a thousand times a day." Sam realized out loud, getting an amused look upon the Captain's face. "Things are well, I hope?"

"Yes." Hackett nodding, collecting a contragravity chair and bringing it over to Collins' bed, sitting in it by her bedside. "We've collected all the women from the facility, as well as the children in the transportation vessel. All are doing physically well, though psychologically-wise I doubt any of them will be well for quite some time, I'm afraid." The Deputy agreed with that. Her own dreams, when she slept, were fraught with what they had found down at Revan. "We're still combing the site for intel, evidence, and data, and ONI is having an absolute field day with what they are finding. Revan's orbit is now heavily populated with a couple of fleets' worth of ships with aid and assistance coming from multiple sectors of Council Space. We just didn't have the supplies or knowledge to even begin to care for the Turian women, and we weren't much better off with the others. Turians are flying scouting patrols and long-range defensive postures while we guard some of the non-military oriented Citadel vessels in orbit; supply ships and mobile medical facilities. The women are getting the medical treatment that they deserve, as are the children.

"The... ones that were discovered abandoned in that room," Sam realized that he was doing her a kindness; he wasn't calling them dead children, "are being afforded every dignity we could muster. We've actually let some of the medical personnel on the surface to help us out, since we didn't know the expectations of the other races for such events. We were rather... strained ourselves, with so many." The older man closed his eyes, taking what was obviously a calming breath. Sam didn't doubt that Captain Hackett walked in the very same rooms she had, observed everything with his eyes. She didn't doubt he had the same emotional turmoil that she had, he merely bottled it better with more experience at his side. "I've seen many things in my years in the military, but the callousness of what I found on that planet has disturbed me greatly." Sam couldn't agree more. "I'm glad you caught the fucker responsible, and I wasn't too sad to see most of the Batarians didn't make it."

"The Batarian Captain was the one that shot me." Collins supplied, a gentle hand moving towards her bandaged abdomen. She was well out of the danger zone now, and the medical personnel were just being on the safe side. She would be fit for duty within a day or two, thanks to the medical care and expertise of the military doctors on the _Marco Polo_. "Captain, I regret to inform you that the Marshal's Office on Therum played a part in this tragedy." Hackett's face went dark with that news. "I don't know how deep, and I don't know how wide, but I do have substantial evidence of Marshal Bart Weather's part loaded on my Omnitool, which also implicated at least some of the other Deputies in my Office." Sam went quiet for a moment. "That's how I first discovered that something was amiss; discrepancies in Customs Logs and empirical data based on the ships' weight, mass, fuel consumption, and the fact that it was claiming to haul iron and nickel when there is no mining being done in the Thermopile System. What was being declared did not match what was being registered when the ship made a Jump through the Knossos Relay."

"That's... going to be a shitstorm." Hackett sighed, shaking his head. "Bart's been the Marshal of Therum for quite some time now, and has a solid reputation. How solid is the evidence?"

"Four years worth of Customs' Logs with his signature on it based upon the very vessel upon the planet." Collins informed the Captain. "I also pulled up a personal message from him to the ship's captain, a Batarian named Pan'mekk. He... he was going to sell me into slavery." The young woman closed her eyes, now truly understanding the horror she had avoided. "God, I would have been a part of that baby farm because of him." Hackett's face went a dark red at that, ugly and raging. "I am in need of a favor, Captain. I need to borrow some Marines and a vessel to clean house. I need to arrest eleven people and fleece the Office for evidence to find out who was in on it, who knew what, and how deep it truly went. At the very least, Marshal Weathers was in the know that there was a full-fledged slavers' operation going on in the very Cluster he was assigned to."

"You'll have it." Captain Steven Hackett promised, nodding his head. "The Artemis Tau Cluster is part of my responsibility, too. It seems that I was hoodwinked good and proper, as were you. While it wasn't our fault due to the nefariousness of others, it is our responsibility to set it right. You did your part by finding the operation. I'll help you amputate the rot left behind. Scaring up a Battle Group shouldn't be too hard, considering how much we've diverted into this system, giving you at least a Company's worth of Marines and a couple teams of Naval Security to help you execute your arrests and make sure that law and order are kept in Therum."

"Thank you." Sam nodded, grimacing. She wasn't going to be arresting anyone from a medical bed, that was for sure. She still had a couple of days in which she was going to be confined to the Med Bay for recuperation and to finish her regimen of antibiotics and recovery medications. It wouldn't do to jump out of bed only to injure herself further, or worse. She was looking forward to that moment, when she could get her answers, to find out just how how bad it had been in the Marshal's Office in Therum. Sam had no idea what the future had in store for her, especially if she went in and arrested everybody in the Office. For Marshal Weathers, she knew she had enough to justify a trial, and evidence that would be pretty damning in court. As for the other Deputies, she had at best very circumstantial evidence, really boiling down to a few words on a message sent to a Batarian. _No need to let the others in the office know this_ was the basis of that line of thought, and it was enough for just cause and to hold someone in jail for an investigation, at least. Sam doubted it was all the Deputies in the Therum Office; likely, it was probably only a couple who had been in office for a few years, or had stumbled upon some portion of the operation somehow. Realistically, this was a job more oriented to the Terran Bureau of Investigations, or perhaps the Internal Affairs Office back on Earth. Any investigation into corruption was generally held out-of-house to avoid bias and obvious conflict-of-interest. At the least, she could arrest Bart Weathers, hold all the Deputies, and preserve as much evidence and as many electronic fingerprints as possible before the appropriate people showed up.

Sam had been stuck in the medical bed long enough to get bored, and she had been researching and making plans in the meantime. If she was going to do what she planned, then she was going to make sure all of her ducks were in a row. It was like a planned assault; she needed to gather as much intelligence as possible before she went through the doors to execute the plan. That mean going through the Systems Alliance Charter, to look upon every law broken for the verbiage, to make sure that when she arrested Marshal Weathers, that she was doing it by-the-book. It simply wouldn't do to have them man getting off due to a technicality or dismissed evidence due to improper procedures.

She had an investigation to conduct. And nothing but time on her hands.

* * *

Fine, Arc I

Stay Tuned for Arc II, Therum...

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter wasn't my strongest effort; it was more of a link to the next Arc. Which is Therum. Which is where the fun is. I just wanted to hold your hand and convince you that Sam ain't dead yet. Could be worse; look at Fallout: New Vegas.

I have plans for Jondum Bau, whom of all the SPECTREs, I liked the best. And He will be like Batman. Or… more like Tony Stark-suit Spiderman from the Civil War comic book.

EUCC, or Earth Urban Competitive Combat League, is suppose to be something in between football, an obstacle course, and possibly non-lethal combat. The two teams I used are my own creation; New Beijing is a city in Shanxi, and Sam's Alma Mater, and Illyera is actually the capital of the colony Elysium, which is canon. As Shanxi is a Oriental location, much of the colony will be Oriental in culture and development.

LaGrange Points - Certain locations around a planet in space. There are five, and they are 'parking spaces' in which a small object (like a ship) uses two much larger bodies (like a sun and a planet) to create a stable, geocentrifugal orbit. Basically, they are 'gravity wells' in which Newtonian Physics creates a sort of 'flow' in which one is not either constantly falling towards the sun, or towards another celestial object, like Earth. L1 is in between the sun and planet, while L2 is polar opposite, sun and planet on the same side. L3 is the apothesis point, opposite of the celestial object with the sun in between, and L4 and L5 are set at equalateral triangles (or 'trojan points'). See? SCIENCE! I fucking love physics.

And fuck you mechanical dragons. Epic fights, but fuck you. (No spoils)


	11. Therum, I

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. CANADIANS..._

 **Orbit of Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 10 May 2175**

Author's Note: So the First Arc of _Where The Law Stands Tall_ is complete as we ditch Revan for a new location, new O/C's, a new enemy, and a new sinister plan! I'm actually kind of digging the next part in which will be part cop story, and part... you know what? Read it! I ain't spoilin' nutin'.

Royce Mason and Stacy Valentino are owned by me, OC's that somehow manage to thread their way into another one of my stories.

* * *

 _"Gonna tell Aunt Sally! 'Bout Uncle John!_

 _Claims to have the misery, but you know he's having fun!_

 _Oh baby! Yeeeaaaah, baby! Whooooo-ooo-ooo!_

 _Baby! Havin' me some fun tonight! Yeah!_

 _Well, long tall Sally, she built for speed! She got_

 _ev'rythin' that Uncle John needs!_

 _Oh baby! Yeeeaaaah, baby! Whooooo-ooo-ooo!_

 _Baby! Havin' me some fun tonight! Yeah!_

 _Well I saw Uncle John with the bald head Sally!_

 _He saw Aunt Mary and he ducked back into the alley!_

 _Oh baby! Yeeeaaaah, baby! Whooooo-ooo-ooo!_

 _Baby! Havin' me some fun tonight! Yeah!"_

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino sat in the deployment chair of the UT-40 Liberty-Class Transportation Insertion Vessel as the deployment shuttle entered into atmo over Therum, the vessel rocking and jostling from the re-entry procedures as Chief Warrant Officer Jeffery Harbeck piloted the shuttle through the descent, blasting Little Richard through the PA. The Navy Master-at-Arms felt her body sway and quake from the movement of the shuttle as she mostly ignored the re-entry turbulence with practiced ease, her eyes glancing over to the monitor feed that displayed the Liberty's status. Ionization was running normal, fuel was good, and the hull integrity was the perfect picture of health. Nothing was falling off, so everything was fine.

As the old Navy joke went, everyone always arrived at the final destination.

She looked over at the twenty-five man crew that was riding the Liberty shuttle with her, most she knew by sight and name, though there were a few faces she didn't know. As the Master-of-Arms of the Heavy Cruiser-Class SSV _Canberra_ , she led the Naval Security Team of the Heavy Cruiser, responsible for the accountability and issuance of firearms, security of the vessel, to repel boarders, and gain a footprint upon any deployment area in which shuttles landed upon. Sure, Systems Alliance Marines thought themselves the badasses of badasses, but the stupid fucking Jarheads couldn't be convinced to used what little brain matter they had in their thick skulls to act like civilized people, and were generally used for clearing ops, tactical insertions, drops, and other buffoonery that generally had them becoming a part of the meat grinder. Her guys and gals were professionals; cops and security, armorers and guards, investigators and skull-crackers. If someone got out of line, an NST Guardsman would whip out a Deterance Rod (commonly known as a sick-stick) or a pacification baton (commonly known as a zap-tap) to remind any offender why messing with a rated MP was a bad idea. Their offenders, after all, were trained in the proficiency of firearms. And the stupid fucking Jarheads were all trained in hand-to-hand combatives, as well. If one wanted to be in the NST, one had to be tougher than everyone else.

And to be a ship's Master-at-Arms was to be tougher than that, to boot.

Stacy looked across the shuttle to see her NST XO sitting across from her, Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason half-asleep for the ride. Royce had been in her platoon for four years now, a man she knew and trusted. They had been lovers for a time, back when they were serving on different ships in the same Battle Group, but she had gotten promoted and he had been ordered to be under her command. Breaking it off had been the smart, logical choice, and it had gone smoothly, at least. A part of her always regretted it, but both knew that trying to have a relationship while assigned to the same boat was a serious no-no in the Navy. They could have gotten married to avoid that particular rule, but somehow things always came back to enforce that rule. Stacy had seen two Navy screenwatchers get hitched after a few months bumping uglies, and the couple spent the next three years never seeing each other, not even for shore leave as they were assigned to different Fleets. She had heard they had gotten divorced for practical reasons, and she honestly couldn't blame them. At least she got to be around Royce, trading insults and barbs, sharing duties and jokes. It was better than nothing.

 _Five more years. We can do that._

The shaking and bucking of the Liberty shuttle continued as her eyes swept over her eighteen-man platoon, each having served under her for at least one deployment (for the Seamen such as Odinero and Hoskins) and some with several (like Petty Officer Third Class Michaelson and Laguna). Six more had been added from the Corvette-Class SSV _Charger_ , led by a Chief Petty Officer Dan Simmons. She had ran into the man a few times, and knew him to be a competent Master-at-Arms. His team she didn't know.

And then there was the other one.

Her eyes traced over the woman who was the reason for this whole exercise, someone that had the full confidence and cooperation of Captain Steven Hackett. Valentino had been briefed along with Captain Rhys Lewellyn, CO of the _Canberra_ , about the nature of their mission. It was, simply put, a puddlejump into Therum where the Naval Security Team would 'detain' the Marshal of Therum, one Bartholomew Weathers, and all of his Deputies in one fell swoop. Unfortunately, due to the legal language of the Systems Alliance Charter, the very constitution in which all members of the military swore and oath to uphold and defend, the military did not have any arrest authority or legal jurisdiction upon Systems Alliance-supported worlds outside of military bases and compounds. Technically, they couldn't detain anyone if they weren't actively trying to break into a military compound, ship, vessel, or base. But if they were under the command of someone who held such authority, then under the Charter, the Naval Security Team would fall under the old _posse comatatus_ rules, and would temporarily have such authority as long as the legality of it applied.

The unknown woman was a Marshal Deputy... and she was going to arrest her boss.

Stacy had been told the gist of the situation, both on what had happened on the planet Therum, and who else had been involved. This woman, who looked barely old enough to serve in the Navy, much less be a Deputy, had tracked a ship to a slavers' compound and _assaulted_ it. Val hadn't been a part of that clean-up, but she had gotten some MilNet messages from some friends and former NST platoon mates who had, and the best word to describe it was _sickening_. A fucking baby farm filled with comatose women impregnated with the aid of fertility drugs? That was some primo sick shit, right there. And evidently this kid with a Deputy's badge had gone in and put foot-to-ass into slaver filth. Evidently, the Marshal of Therum had been in cahoots with the operation, and now his ass was going into a candy sling. The Deputy was going to arrest the bastard and _her entire fucking office_ to get to the bottom of it, bringing the NST for back-up.

No doubt about it, that young woman had some _balls_.

The shuttle continued to descend onto Therum, Chief Harbeck getting them through the worst of the turbulence as the Liberty UT-40 streaked across the sky on its flight plan towards Nova Yekaterinburg. No'burg, as it was despairingly called by the local residents, was the classic Tier I Colony shithole in which other Tier I Colony shitholes did their best to aspire to. With a population of seventy thousand plus in the city limits, and perhaps another forty-plus out past the outskirts in little mining camps or croppie farms, No'berg was made from cheap pre-fab buildings, re-appropriated colonial shipping containers converted into buildings, and pieced-together shelters that somehow managed to be worse than the already standard run of crummy occupancy. No'Berg survived off of mining companies, mineral rights, surveyors, and the desperate trying to dig for the mythical fortune. The colony was set up like any other gold rush town; exploiting profit from misery, and undercutting the bottom margin for a maximum gain.

Other words? Classic shithole.

Stacy had visited the colonial town on a number of occasions, mostly shore leave whenever the _Carberra_ was stationed over its skies for rest-and-refit, resupply, or just a liberty pass to keep the sailors and Marines from killing each other or themselves. She'd rather vacation in Lowell City in Mars.

The UT-40 descended towards the northern hemisphere where No'burg was located, past the tropics where the temperature was at least manageable for human beings, manageable meaning 'sweating like a whore in church' as oppose to 'frying like bacon' near the equator. If one wanted, they could walk outside without the use of a thermoregulator suit, pressure suit, or any other kind of external apparatus to keep one from exasperating any kind of medical emergency for most of the Therumian year, though the short summers were particularly brutal. In the longer winters, outside was damn-near pleasant with its balmy twenty-nine degree Celsius afternoon temperatures. Thankfully, it was heading towards winter time on the planet as Therum headed towards Aphelion, moving away from the A-Class, IV-Luminocity star Knossos, an A9IV light blue sub-giant star that pushed out a great deal of heat and radiation that, thankfully, the second planet in the system was too distant for it to be cooked like Mercury or even the first planet in the Knossos System, Phaistos.

 _"No'burg Control, No'burg Control, this UT-40_ Erica _requesting permission to land. ETA, five mikes, two-five pax. Say again, this is UT-40_ Erica _requesting permission to land. ETA, five mikes, two-five pax. How copy?"_ Came the voice of Chief Warrant Officer Jeff Harbeck, his voice popping over the Liberty-Class Shuttle's PA. The shuttle was an usual visitor to No'Control, as the spaceport in Nova Yekaterinburg was commonly referred to, making milk runs and liberty runs for the Battle Group. Landing in the spaceport with twenty-five military personnel wasn't unusual, which was the point. It had been a part of the brief, given to her by Captain Hackett, alongside Captain Lewellyn. Obviously the discretion and deception was necessary; as a Military Police Officer, Stacy knew that collecting evidence of guilt was really a matter of timing. The Marshal was obviously guilty of something, and the unknown Deputy wanted to catch him before he could purge the data and burn any paperwork of his dealings. The young woman was also under the impression that some of the other Deputies were also involved, and was going to arrest the whole lot of them to be on the safe side, which was a smart move. It'd probably piss the whole lot of them off, innocent and guilty, but the innocent ones would see the light of reason once clarification was made and evidence was collected. No one wanted to be slapped in the brig, but it was better than being implicated wholesale and punished for crimes uncommitted.

Today was going to be an interesting day, to say the least.

 _"UT-40_ Ericia _, this is No'burg Control. Permission for landing granted. Landing Pad Three is available for docking procedures."_ Came the reply over the PA, the Traffic Control responding to their request. Stacy kicked across the shuttle at Royce's armored shin, getting the Senior Chief up as he jerked his head in a vertical position, glancing left and right in a quick second to survey the situation, making sure his life wasn't in immediate danger.

"Almost there." Val informed Mason, making the MP Senior Chief nod as he blinked his eyes several times to get the grogginess out, looking down the line of MP's that were on the shuttle to their right. As the highest-ranking members in the shuttle, they sat closest to the cockpit, meaning that if there were any issues or someone was dumb enough to take shots at them, it would be the lowest-ranking ones who would be the first off the bird while they commanded them. The Liberty-Class Shuttle's inertia began to shift as the distinct impression of falling became obvious as the craft lowered to what was undoubtedly Landing Pad Three of the No'Burg Spaceport. The sensation was over quickly as the shuttle took a few well-executed drops of altitude so that no one would feel like a giant kicked them in the ass when they landed; No'Burg wasn't sophisticated enough to have landing dampeners installed to mitigate the shock of turning off a mass-reduced vehicle while in mid-air. The last drop was the doozy; the shuttle landed with a decisive thump, rocking everyone decently enough that everyone was grimacing, but no one was screaming in pain. That was a victory. Val had been on a few landings where less-than-adequate pilots would get troops sent to the Med Bay with broken limbs and compressed spines because they sucked ass. Chief Harbeck was a damn good pilot, and all her joints thanked him for that. It wasn't like she was getting any younger.

 _"Landing complete. Commencing deployment."_ Harbeck's voice rattled through the shuttle as the rear-docking ramp lowered, the hydraulic ramp slow and cumbersome due to the weight of the armor of the ramp, meant to bounce small-arms fire and even military-grade mass accelerated fire. It took about five seconds for the ramp to lower fully as the first set of Navy MP's popped the cork and exited the spacecraft, not looking too horribly out of place with their Aldrin Lab's Light Onyx Armor and Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms Gladius Battle Rifle; standard affair for MP's on duty. Everyone filed out as if doing a normal procedure towards the lone Systems Alliance Liaison Office situation in the Colonial Governor's compound, where Marines or NST's were often seen guarding the small military compound. It was this compound that they were headed to, not to far from the Marshal's Office, in fact. There was a time hack in which the Security Team wanted to hit, and they were about an hour or so early just to be on the safe side. If everything looked normal, no one would be expecting them. Surprise was its own weapon, after all.

"Okay, wimps." Master Chief Valentino addressed her MP's (and sole Deputy) with her usual bravado of camaraderie and insults. "We're walkin' pretty to the SA Compound, so let it dangle." She turned her attention to the Deputy, who was equally armored in Systems Alliance-issued Onyx Armor as well; evidently, her previous armor was out of commission due to battle. Plus, she technically was suppose to not be here to further the ruse that there was nothing untowards going on. The Onyx Armor helped with that. The Nexus' 2169 Lawbringer strapped to her back, the Glock 18C on her left hip, and the Nexus' ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle attached to her chest did not. Then again, with her being fully helmeted, with only a thin band of a visor to discern her eyes, it was likely no one would notice. She would be walking in the middle of the pack. "Briefing will be held at the Compound in ten mikes. Try not to spook the locals; most of them will probably eat your liver for want of a better meal. Poor bastards." That was an exaggeration, but not by much; Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corp were some real penny-pinching bastards that made other penny-pinching bastards look up to them with admiration. The miners here were contractional employees who only got paid at the end of said contract. Sure, they got a company 'credit card', by EAEC would take back every Credit spent on that card from the final paycheck. It was practically slavery with an Alliance Express credit card involved.

"Let's move out. _Non-chalantly._ " The Master Chief reminded the good boys and girls of her team as she stuck an Elysium Gold Label Churchhill in her teeth, biting off the nub at the end and spitting it out before she stuck it into her mouth and lit the open end of it with a pocket helium torch. She drew a few puffs of the cigar as she blew out a smoke ring before leading her MP's off of the spaceport and into the favalas of Nova Yekaterinburg.

Despite the cool twenty-one degree temperature of the early morning and the coming of the 'winter' season on Therum for the next nineteen and a half months, there was nothing else that could make No'burg desirable.

When the system and planet had been discovered back in 2166, Eldfell-Ashland had provided the the survey probes that did the initial geological scans of the planet, coring into crust and earth to look for mineral wealth. Dozens of probes were sent and returned, the Energy Corporation sent the results for _most_ of the probes to the appropriate authorities at the Citadel Geological Survey Society with interest of 'buying' the planet. Since _most_ of the probes showed the planet to hold nothing more exciting than nickel and iron, Eldfell-Ashland quickly won colonial rights to the planet, seen as a mostly-undesirable world that would hardly turn out a profit.

 _Most_ , mind you.

2167 was a great year for Therum as the first human 'surveyor' teams arrived with a camp settled at the northern cap, where the cooler temperatures meant less equipment desired. Within the first week, someone struck platinum, beryllium, and iridium. By the end of the month, more rare earths, light metals deposits, and heavy metal ores were being strip-minded out of the geologically-active planet. The Systems Alliance Colonial Affairs Bureau and Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation couldn't promote the 'gold rush' fast enough as thousands of pioneers and colonists signed up on the contracts that would guarantee them two years worth of work, with a percentage of the profit of what was discovered and dug out added to the end. The words 'gold mine' unfortunately had the less-educated skipping the fine print about work pay, work conditions, hazards, and termination clauses implied in the contracts. The first group of miners found themselves working brutal eighteen-hour work days in the twenty-eight hour solar rotation, hard, hot, heavy, backbreaking work, four-days on, one-day off. This went on for the first few months with little grumbling as the port of Nova Yekaterinburg was literally dropped overnight, cheap pre-fab domiciles and stores placed wherever to accommodate the swelling population. The population went from hundreds to tens of thousands before the end of the year, and Eldfell-Ashland raked in the profits as the miners toiled night and day for rock and ore.

Eight years later, and No'burg was still the same shantytown that it was; haphazard, dirty, cheap, and overflowing with angry, hard-working men and women.

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino had her Gladius Battle Rifle mag-locked to her Onyx Armor chestpiece as she smoked her cigar as she left the spaceport and walked through one of the main boulevards of the No'burg favalas, seeing people moving about as they readied for their day. The spaceport was guarded by Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps Officers, cheap private security to keep company property from being damaged or vandalized from a group of pissed-off miners. She had visited No'burg on a few occasions due to riots and strikes, which were never pleasant, helping the EA Security and the Marshal Deputies reinforce the law with sick-sticks and non-lethal munitions. Other times, it was to blow off steam in one of the blue-district shanty saloons that was pure Wild West; whiskey and a barfight were the general entertainment _de jure_. Saloons here in No'burg were the true one-stop shopping locations of the town, serving all... in more ways than one. Alcohol, gambling, sports, women, men, narcotics, vidsims, clubs... walking into a No'burg shanty saloon was never tame, and not always safe, either. Many a Mairne and sailor had come back beaten and robbed for the physical Credits they carried since the miners made do with company credit cards that was deducted from their final checks, and more than a few miners were beaten and left in an alley when they came back second place.

No'burg wasn't for the weak or timid, that was for sure.

Stacy walked easily down the boulevard, her body loose and ready with her eyes never still as she saw a few of the residents looking at them darkly; Systems Alliance Military weren't friends here, despite the hard Credits they carried. Still, it would take a stupid fucking moron to start some scrap with twenty-five fully armed-and-armored Military Police Officers with weapons and 'deterrent tools'. Seeing unwashed and unkempt men glaring at them from container domiciles, packed filled with sweating bodies in cramped conditions, glaring at them from recesses had her nerves at full alert as she walked front and center down the middle of the boulevard, not worried about any kind of vehicle or transportation apparatus getting in their way; the only vehicles on this shithole to be had were either in the hands of the Eldfell-Ashland execs that ran the administration of the mining operation, or the hoverbikes that the Deputies rode on for a quick response. Even the EASC pukes hoofed it. Talk about cheap. She was just glad that Harbeck was popping smoke off this rock and heading back to the _Canberra_. Val didn't want some stupid fucking miner with the literacy rate of a blind Krogan trying to GTA a military shuttle.

"Ah, No'burg. Brings back some mems, don' it?" Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason let off a _faux_ -sigh as he walked to her left, just a step or two behind her as he too cradled his Gladius. "The beaches! The sights! The galleries! Is... that bloke dead?" Stacy looked to see a body laying half in-and-out of the boulevard, the other half lying in a winding labyrinth of alleyways that crooked in between the cheap pre-fabs and container domiciles. There was an easily-spotted puddle under his body that looked to be dark red. Then again, the boulevard was made up of Therum earth, and it was generally a mix of dark red and brown in color.

"He wishes." Val replied, making Royce scoff as they continued to swag through the favala as if they owned the joint; it was the only way to ensure they wouldn't get fucked with by a thousand angry miners ready to mob at a moments' notice. No'burg was like running a high-security prison, but with no containment whatsoever. These pukes hadn't been paid a Credit their whole time here, forced to use the company credit cards issued to them to purchase food and supplies needed. Most times, it racked up on booze, sex, and drugs, and more than a few miners had found their final paycheck after two years of work in the negative after the deductions were made. It was a legal extortion racket, for sure. Sad part was, as soon as they kicked off one miner who finished contract, they'd bring in some other rube with Credits in his eyes and two years of back-breaking work in his future. Powers That Be only knew how much Eldfell-Ashland was actually making off this dump. Eighty percent profit? If it were higher, it wouldn't surprise Val at all. "Keep heading to the compound all shiny and chrome, Royce. Let the podunks gawk."

"If any o' 'em get all jackie, gots me the good ol' fashion dinner refunder right here." Mason tapped his left thigh, where his Deterrence Rod was located, the meter-long retractable baton primed and ready. "Haven't seen the inside o' some chap's stomach in a week. Mi' have forgott'n how."

"I doubt it, Royce." Stacy chanced looking over her shoulder and looked to the Australian and gave him a smile; a real smile. He noted it and gave her a nod and a smile, too. "Now quit being such a joey and get them dingo-spotters up and moving, Senior Chief. Fairly certain one of our newboys is probably wetting himself."

"This town sure bring's 'em out, don' it?" The Australian laughed as he looked back over the platoon for a moment while Stacy led them through the boulevard, past shipping containers-cum-housing structures stacked three to four high, none of them in a straight line or even particularly in grid with one another, as if they were just plopped down as is. The favala was ending as the Texan-born woman found herself entering what was jokingly known as 'Market Square'; What it was was really just more pre-fabs stocked full to the gills with supplies and amenities. If someone wanted food, they went to the Market Square to one of the locate cantinas. If someone wanted clothes, they bought it from a supplier. The every day necessities could easily be found, but the off-world stock had to be ordered at jacked prices and a wait time. With the cramped living conditions of the domiciles packed with six bodies each, Stacy didn't doubt that theft and black market items here were rife. She didn't even want to think about the rapes and sex crimes.

The team entered the Market with the population in the low hundreds, miners and other EA employees getting food or whatever necessaries were needed for the day as the Systems Alliance NST sauntered into the Square from the south, most of the Therum population not even paying attention to them. A few glances came their way, dark and ugly, but that was about as serious as it got as miners in rip-stop utilitarian work clothes went about their business, obviously rushing towards breakfast for a bite to eat before ploughing through yet another eighteen hour day in some sweltering mine or quarry. It was obvious to tell who was a miner and who was an actual Eldfell-Ashland employee by the clothing; the actual employees wore causal business two-piece jumpsuits that were light blue in color with white borders and shoulders. They looked clean and well-nourished, not covered in rock soot and sweat. They were also generally followed by a couple of EASC guards armored in riot gear and armed with Force Sticks. EA employees traveled in groups of ten or so, with a few guards to 'remind' the rubes that did the real work that they were somehow not good enough to talk to the clean corporate types. Of course, the jumpsuits did little to disguise the imagination of what was going on in terms of physique, male or female. On a planet this hot, few were fat or out-of-shape, and it didn't hurt that, despite that the miner population was about ninety-five percent male, the Eldfell-Ashland employee population was approximately seventy percent female. Stacy couldn't imagine being some corporate exec's secretary in a shithole like this, earning probably what amounted to a little better than standard cost of living. Some of the EASC pukes eyeballed the NST as they walked to the Colonial Administration Compound, feelings obviously butthurt as _real_ cops walked by while the fakers owned sub-standard armor and sissy-sticks. Val winked at one of the scowlers as she puffed on her cigar, peace and good will and all that bullshit to mankind.

Stacy reached the heavy blast door that represented the entrance to the Compound and banged on it with her meat of her fist three times, stepping back a meter so that the security camera would capture her image.

"Systems Alliance Naval Security Team, Master Chief Valentino, Master-at-Arms, SSV _Canberra_." Val told the camera when it clicked on, moving to look at her. "Twenty-five to enter into the SA Compound."

 _"Wait a moment."_

"Bloody hell." Mason muttered under his breath, his mood going sour. "Bleedin' bookdocker can't op'n a fuckin' door..."

"Royce..." Stacy reprimanded him softly, giving him a look. The Australian man grumbled but went quiet. She wasn't exactly pleased either, considering the private security yahoo on the other side could clearly see SAMP on the other side with his camera, and her request was the same one that they always used every time. Fucking little tin god getting his jollies off making them wait as he 'cleared' them as if they didn't do something like this at least once a week or so, depending who was in orbit. She had half-a-mind to toss the little scab out of his cushy chair and air conditioned shack and out into the Market Square and see how long his ass would survive No'burg. EASC pukes didn't travel alone for a very good reason, just like the SAN and the SAMC. Fucking shithole colony.

The blast door clicked and shuttered, and a doorway opened in the center of the metal contraption to admit them in after a few moments of waiting.

" _About time_." Came from one of the MP's behind her, and Val's head swiveled to see who had said it. Enough of her men were looking at the offender in question; the disguised Deputy. Stacy frowned and glared at her, but said nothing. " _Sorry, Master Chief."_ The woman replied through her helmet, the vox good enough to hardly tell that there was one in there. Distorted vox's could scramble orders during stressful times, after all. " _Been a long week for me. Won't happen again_."

"Understood." The Master-at-Arms replied in a more civil tone than she would have used on one of her men. She could understand and relate what the young woman was going through, at the least, and she was still young enough to let her nerves get to her. But it was as she said; it had been a long week for her, and petty bullshit was probably fraying at her already-short nerves and temper. The door opened and Stacy let Royce lead the NST in as she kept an eye on the outside of the Compound as they filed in, making sure none of the rubes decided to add themselves into the stack. When the last man went in, she herself finally went through the door and entered into the Colonial Administration Compound, the blast door sealing behind her.

* * *

Of course the largest building in all of Therum would be the Colonial Administration Building, Master Chief Stacy Valentino thought to herself as she found herself looking at the ten story building made of alumnisteel and barrier-reactive alumniglas, the literal brain and heart of both No'burg and Therum. The Compound housed several buildings in its square kilometer complex, all in tune to run the day-to-day operations of the mining operations. It was here that Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation executives, administrators, clerks, assessors, graders, marketers, logistics, and suppliers worked, doing the paper grunt work of keeping No'burg up and running... and profitable.

To include the Colonial Administration Building, there was also the Colonial Government Building, where the Colonial Governor, Governor Adam Benson, had his staff and lackies to run the day-to-day operations of the town itself. Which really just meant answering to EA execs and making sure all the municipal necessities kept running, like the water purifiers and reclaimers, the power plant, waste disposal, and any issuances coming from either the Systems Alliance or EarthGov itself. Everyone knew that Governor Benson was just a sock puppet with an EA hand shoved up his ass to move his mouth, but they guy did rank as a Colonial Administrator, which was a government gig. A pretty lucrative one, too. No doubt his gubernational paycheck was 'supplemented' with Eldfell-Ashland 'campaign contributions'. Honestly, for the kind of money the guy got, yeah... she'd sit on the throne of Hell, too.

There was also the Barracks; where the EA employees lived. Another guarded facility like the Admin Building and the Governor's Building, more EA pukes pulling door guard. The Barracks was much finer than what the miners who actually earned EA's bread lived in. One of her female MP's had been 'invited' to the Barracks for a night one liberty pass, and the scuttlebutt went that the lower levels were twelve-by-twelve apartments that had a small bedroom, a small living room, a kitchenette, and a full washroom. That was certainly better than what Val merited; her own sleeper pod, as oppose to hotbunking one.

In the Compound was the requisite Systems Alliance Administration Building, generally just called the SA Compound. The Compound was many things; nice and lavish were neither of them. It was a concrete-reinforced alumnisteel bunker that could take a pounding even from a light kinetic bombardment. Inside was the usual; some SA admin puke to look out for SA interests, a few data clerks and intel-crybabies to catch any hot traffic and pass it along, and a security detail of the dumbest SAMC Jarheads one could generally find. Compounds were set up for two reasons; to pull the leash if some colony or idiot needed the reminder, and to give the SA Military a staging point in case there was something that needed doing that didn't involve big fucking guns or every Roughneck SOB hotdropping out of Navy Coffins to obliterate everything within a five klick range with bullets, grenades, and a whole lot of 'hoo-rah'.

Like them, for instance.

Master Chief Valentino had her NST Team enter the Compound through the Marine-guarded door, the two guards saluting her when she verified her credentials through her Omnitool. Oh yeah, Marines saluted Non-Coms, not just Officers. She saluted them back, wondering what these two did _not_ to merit a space posting; every Marine's dream. Lubbing it on land was akin to cleaning out the bilge. Probably too stupid to tell port from starboard. The rest of her team followed her into one of three conference rooms that had been set aside for their use, courtesy of Captain Lewellyn sending a message to the SA Admin Exec to keep one open for them. The conference room was a no-frills conference room; table, chairs, and one holographic monitor in case images were needed. The only pieces of decoration that were placed on the eggshell white walls was the Big Blue Banner itself, a picture of the SA Prime Minister, and one of the EarthGov President.

"Close the door, and set the security." Val told one of her Seamen, Able Seaman Alvarez nodding as he locked the pneumatic door and turned on the electronic signal interference device that would prevent bugs from recording and sending data. It was really just a small Faraday cage net. Once that was done, she looked to the Deputy and nodded her head once.

Game time.

"Good morning, sailors." The helmet came off to reveal a young woman with a pretty face and haunted blue eyes, her brown hair short and spikey, and held back by a simple hairband. "I am Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Sam Collins, and I have brought you here today to make a series of arrests on my behalf." That was the standard language needed to overcome the clauses that the SA Military didn't have jurisdictional authority on colonial property unless during an actual time of war. "I apologize for the veil of secrecy involved, but it was so we can get the drop on a network of criminals that are both armed and organized here in No'burg. At this time, I only have substantial proof of the leader through some documents and a message to a Batarian slaver, and he mentioned that those under him may be involved. I do not know how many of his ten other employees are involved, or how deeply involved they are. All I know is that we need to act swiftly if we wish to capture them without losing any intelligence or evidence. This group has ties to the House of Horrors on Revan, and being the lead investigator on the case, I am _very_ interested in making sure I get to the very bottom of this tragedy."

"Certainly don' fuck aroun', do ya', shiela?" Royce opened his big mouth and promptly crammed one of his feet in it. Stacy just shook his head. "So who's the blimin' wankers?"

"The Marshal of Therum. And all of his remaining Deputies."

That had the room silent. Out of all of them, only Valentino had been briefed.

"Um," Seaman Hoskins raised his hand, looking a little startled, "you want to arrest your _boss_? And your _coworkers?_ " Looks were traded amongst the NST. Obviously everyone was thinking the same thing. Someone muttered _holy shit_ in the back somewhere.

"Marshal Weathers," Collins continued, "was in full knowledge of the slavery operation that was being conducted on Revan, and was being bribed to falsify Customs Declaration Logs so that the transportation ship would pass Alliance inspections without further proof-of-evidence. He also informed the operation that I had discovered them, and gave them advance warning of my arrival for half of the profits of my sale." That had everyone in the Conference Room go dead silent. "Chances are that he probably didn't know _what_ kind of slave ring was being run, but he knew there was one. Two hundred and sixty-four women were held in a chemically-induced coma, injected with fertility drugs, and impregnated with multiple children at a time. Rough estimate places the number at _ten... thousand... children._ "

Stacy could hear atoms collide, it was that fucking quiet.

"Ten thousand souls. Ten thousand _babies_." Collins was absolutely relentless, her blue eyes blazing. The haunted look was long gone, replaced with justifiable rage. "Sold, transported, never to be seen or heard of again. Babies born into slavery, born without ever knowing a moments' freedom. Mothers kept asleep as they were ravished and impregnated, sleeping the years away. A room filled with _dead children_." One or two of the NST members looked absolutely green in the face. "They just chucked them into a _fucking_ room like trash, sprawled out. I..." The young woman stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to recompose herself. "This... needs to be done. It needs to be done because I do not want people to think that we were responsible for it due to deception or negligence. The people responsible need to pay so that the ones who _aren't_ will not suffer the wrath of practically every species in the galaxy."

That... hadn't been in the brief. Val just assumed that they were human.

"Asari. Drell. Elcor. Human. Salarian. And Turian." The Deputy's eyes scanned the room, looking at all of them. "Imagine what we would do if we found that one of those races were responsible for this. This was in our back-fucking- _yard_ , gentlemen. If we don't find the guilty fast?" Stacy felt a very sickening hole opening up in her stomach. She knew the rumors of what the Elcor did if someone messed with their Cows, and what Turians did to those who committed crimes against hatchlings. Deputy Collins was absolutely correct; they needed as much information and intelligence as possible to keep the false accusations from flying. She wasn't a fan of any of the non-human species, and that she certainly didn't want fleets of them flying into Alliance Space howling for blood. "My boss knew. It's quite possible that some, if not all, of my fellow Deputies knew. It isn't just my duty to arrest them for corruption of justice and unethical acts; I need to get this done so _Mankind_ doesn't suffer for their greed. This isn't a military action, with guns blazing and men dying. This is _police work_. This is where we nab the sons-of-bitches with their pants down and get them singing. This is where we tag and catalog everything for court, perfect and ready. This is where the _law_ stands tall and the guilty are the ones punished, while the innocent remain innocent. Are you with me?"

 _"Aye aye, ma'am!"_ Twenty-four very loud voices confirmed exactly what they thought, reminding them what they stood for. They were cops; sworn to uphold the law. Val had to admit that this fell-off-the-school-bus-yesterday Deputy knew how to make a speech. There were twenty-four Military Police Officers who were going to enjoy the upcoming arrests. Stacy looked to Royce, who looked hard in the face, his eyes dancing. He nodded only once. She smiled, knowing what he was thinking, the same thing she was thinking. There were days when one felt like no matter what one did, that it didn't matter, that one was left merely picking up the pieces. Not today, though. Today, it could be that all of _humanity_ needed to be at their best and brightest. Paperwork, no matter how dull, immaculate and meticulous. Procedures, no matter how time-consuming, followed to the last letter. Evidence, no matter how arbitrary, collected and cataloged with precision. No matter the cause, no matter the course.

To hell throwing the book at them; they were going to throw the entire fucking Citadel Encyclopedia Codex at them.

* * *

Author's Notes: _Long Tall Sally_ written by Entoris Johnson, 'Little' Richard Penniman, and Robert Blackwell. Performed by Little Richard c. 1952. If there was one thing that Hollywood did right, it was to kickstart the tradition of playing something awesome before dropping into dangerous situations to pump up the troops.

I used some old school OC's of mine for this second Arc; Jeff Harbeck, Royce Mason, and Stacy Valentino. Royce and Stacy have been in practically every story I've written, from the Battle Series, Valkyrieverse, to the Hale/Meer Chronicles. They are even in a story I've dickered around and haven't put yet, called the Devil's Cadre. Throwing them in was a shoe-in. Jeff Harbeck was actually one of my very first OC's, being a minor on in the Battle of Menae, and barely there in the Battle of Tuchanka. I haven't used him in years (literally) so bringing him back as a shuttle pilot was kind of fun. He'll be around.

The naming scheme of the ME ships was pretty easy; battles for frigates, cities for cruisers, famous people for carriers, and mountains for dreadnaughts. I'm injecting a few extra models and classes in there, and thus the Heavy Cruiser, which will be named after capital cities. Corvettes will be named after car models. Shuttles are female names. For those not of Australia, Canberra is the capital Down Under. The SSV _Charger_ is named after the Dodge Charger. The Shuttle's name is Erica, as it's pretty typical to name 'boats' after women; a tradition that has been around for thousands of years, and the gender of boats has always been female. In fact, almost all vessels and modes of transportation are generally colloquially known as 'she'.

I've used my extensive knowledge of all things Navy (extensive being I know that they play in the water in metal boats that _should_ sink but don't) for this Arc.

"No'berg" just seems so much faster to say/type than 'Nova Yekaterinburg' every single time. Plus, this is also a play on the nickname of South Africa's Johannesburg, "Jo'burg".

Non-lethal instruments - I created some ideas as to what future cops would use, borrowing for some, and inventing for others. The Deterrence Rod 'Sick-Stick' is ripped out of the movie _Minority Report_ , inducing a biological gastrointestinal reaction (ie, vomitting) when tapped or struck with said device. The Pacification Baton 'Zap-Tap' is an asp-baton that conducts ten-thousand volts when striking, inducing an intramuscular response (ie, collapsing onto the ground) when introduced to said device. The third (and my own idea) is called the Force Stick 'Bonecracker'. Guess what it does? It introduces a positive feedback frequency that emits a local high-pulse soundwave that when hit against flesh... sends the sound frequency pulse that breaks the local bone. Useful against arms and ribs, and lethal when used on the skull. Its other nickname is 'The Crippler'.

In _The Art of Mass Effect_ , there was to be a small portion of city available, to include a bar that eventually became the mission of Therum. I did my best to create No'burg into a town, using the old gold mining towns such as Bodie, California as a reference. In fact, the whole plot of it is actually a part of Bodie's history. Think it's harsh and sickening what's happening to the miners? Read up on your Western history; it was rife with such acts in Nevada, California, and other mineral towns. What I wanted to create was a sweltering hodgepodge of near-slavery, anger, desperation, and West Virginia. Then I described some cheerful place in South Texas. Dumped deployment housing from shitty little compounds in Iraq and Afghanistan. Add legal whoring and drugs. Stir. Serve. Enjoy.

For this story, I really delve into the world of Law Enforcement. Even with the assault on what I've coined 'the House of Horrors', practically everything could be done by a cop. With this section of the story, it's going to be a bit more Law Enforcement intensive, but in a more old-school fashion. After all, I did just turn No'burg into a sort of Wild West mining town in the grips of a gold rush. Just watch and enjoy.


	12. Therum, II

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. CANADIANS..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 10 May 2175**

Author's Note: I should probably insert a Codex entry or something for Therum. You know. For giggles.

Name: Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster (second planet)

Orbital Distance: _897,960,000 km_ _(approximately 6 AU)_

Orbital Period: 6.4 years

Keplerian Ratio: _0.8397_

Radius: 6,724 km (0.527 Earth's diameter, 1/2 its size, approximately the size of Mars)

Day Length: 28.3 hours (1.179 Earth Day)

Atm. Pressure: 0.68 atm (68.91 kPl / 9.996 psi) (1/3 less)

Surface Temp: 59 C (132 F) Equilateral (Earth = Min -89.2, mean 15, max 56)

Surface Gravity: 1.12 g (10.92 m/s^2 / 35.84 ft/s^2) (Earth = 9.8m/s^2 / 32 ft/s^2)

Mass: 1.236 Earth Mass

Satellites: _None_

Species Initiated: Human _(99% Human, 1% other)_

Capital: Nova Yekaterinburg _"No'burg"_

Founded: 2167

Population: 34,000 _(changed to 71,000)_

 _Colonial Governor: Adam Benson (JD)_

 _Eldfell-Ashland Representative: Edward Dukakis (JD)_

 _Marshal: Bartholomew Weathers_

 _Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps Chief of Police: Marcus Whitaker_

Description: Therum is a distant but rich industrial world claimed by the Systems Alliance. Its plentiful heavy metals have fueled the recent manufacturing boom on Earth. Core samples rich with the fossils of simple silicon-based organisms indicate Therum was more habitable in the past than it is at present. Perhaps this explains the many Prothean ruins dotting the surface, most of which have been looted by mining corporations.

Trivia: Therum was originally intended to be home to an entire Eldfell-Ashland Energy mining facility, complete with on-site workers and a seedy bar.(The Art Of Mass Effect)

All italicized portions are of my own creation, and Earth Standard was used in reference to give a basis. Sorry for you non-SI understanding folks (ie, us Americans) but all things space-wise is done in km's. I helped our brains with Americanized measurements (because sorry no one actually explained to me the whole Pascal pressure thingie, and Celsius is just weird, and fuck you kilograms).

-And Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled FanFiction -

* * *

The more Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino stood and listened, the more that she found that that this young woman in front of her, Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Sam Collins, was absolutely _wasted_ as some backwater cop.

"This," the Deputy in question said, pointing at an image of the Marshal's Office, "is the schematics of the Office. At any given point in time, it is the host of one Marshal and ten Deputies. Another, if a replacement was sent in the past week." That had Collins silent for a moment, obviously thinking to herself before returning to her briefing. "The front portion is the actual office itself; this is where we work. Small lobby, large desk up front, fifteen work stations for the Deputies," these were pointed out with the aid of a laser pointer on the the holographic screen, "and three offices in the back rooms. This one here is the Marshal's Office, this one is the evidence room, and this one is the file room." The schematics were pretty obvious, but intel was intel, and it paid to have everyone on the same page, after all. "This door here is a containment door that leads to a small hallway that leads to another containment door. Beyond is the Pit; what we called the jail. There are two dozen cells that can range from empty to maximum occupancy of about a hundred and fifty if needed. The Pit needs two people to open the doors, and operates like an airlock. The cells themselves are standard three by three meter cells with containment fields on a separate power feed in case of power outages."

The image shifted to just the office.

"At any given point in time," Collins continued, "we can expect at least half of the force in the office itself if there is nothing dramatic going on. The Marshal rarely leaves except for meetings with the Governor and the Eldfell-Ashland execs. The Deputies can be found doing their assigned duties; answering calls, responding to grievance calls, cataloging evidence, looking up changes or shifts in policy, or working whatever other fields they have been assigned. At least two Deputies will be there at all time running the jail, and their responsibilities will include the feeding of the prisoners, as well as safeguarding them from one another." That was actually a pretty good assessment, Stacy noted as she stood with her back against the wall, listening to the brief. "It will be possible that one of the Deputies can be in the Jail itself at the time of the assault. Though it is unlikely that he will do anything drastic, such as opening the cells, this could be an innocent cop trapped in a Jail with no way out."

"Actions?" Chief Petty Officer Dan Simmons of the SSV _Charger_ asked, looking at the Deputy seriously. They were all taking her seriously.

"Non-lethal unless fired upon with lethal munitions." Collins replied immediately, and then let out a huge sigh. "I'll be honest, this is worse than going in against criminals. A cop's first reaction will be to go for his service-issued firearm, in which all the Deputies are armed with Glock 18's." She patted her own Glock 18C Machine Pistol mag-locked to her left thigh. "I doubt any will have anything heavier than that save for Marshal Weather's himself, who carries a Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver that will crack a kinetic shield with the first shot, and then your chest with the second. He's a scary fast draw according to office scuttlebutt, and a hell of a shot. I've never seen it myself, but if anyone's going to be a problem, it's going to be the Marshal. The rest might falter at the sight of SAMP's armed with Nexus' Gladius Battle Rifles; our lethal munitions are locked up in the store room here," she pointed it out with the laser pointer, "which is _generally_ locked up. If it is, we're looking at machine pistols, a magnum, and a couple of Lawbringers designed to pacify the prisoners if they get out of line. If it's open..." Collins frowned for a moment. "If it is open, we're looking at Lancer Assault Rifles and Storm Shotguns."

"Alliance Military Equipment." Valentino nodded, the concept making sense. The Hadne-Keder M7 Lancer Assault Rifle was the stock tool of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, as was the Hadne-Keder M500 Storm Shotgun. She was very familiar with both weapons, being a Master-of-Arms. She knew their strengths... she knew their weaknesses. "Lancers fire about four rounds a second, and will fire for five seconds at full-auto before overheating the copper heat sink. Then it's a seven second cooldown period. If it's sustainment fire, we're looking about about ten seconds worth of firing. One or two shouldn't be bad. Anything more than, say, half a dozen? That's a concern."

"And the Storm Shotgun?" The Deputy asked. Good, the girl had sense to ask questions and not just assume she knew it all.

"Five shots before overheating, one shot every two seconds." The Master Chief replied, knowing it immediately. "Our shields will take the first, our armor the second. After that, and then its the luck of the Gods."

"That's... not horrible." The Deputy frowned again, but let it slide. "Our best option is to assault the office and have a team _immediately_ secure the store room. You may be under fire for that," she looked at her audience, "but I don't think I need to reiterate how important that is." No, she didn't, the Naval Security Team nodding their heads in understanding. Glocks were small-caliber machine pistols, not superbly accurate or punching. It was a good law enforcement weapon for a police officer against, say, unarmored civilians. Against something tougher, and one might have to expend the whole sink just to get through. But that could be used to their advantage. Obviously Collins thought that one out, bringing in more assailants than targets; it would spread the shots, ensuring fewer injuries, and garner more cooperation. Yeah, Stacy had a hard time seeing cops just surrendering, but an overwhelming force that was better armed, better armored, and denying them their best weapons, not to mention that it would be the SA Military? That might do it.

"The only real issue is getting so many people into the office in as short a time as possible, but as smooth as we can manage it." The Deputy continued. "Best I can think of is four six-man teams. The Assault Team clears up to the front desk," she points it out on the schematic, "achieving surprise. The Store Room Team is next, cutting off any additional armaments, especially the more lethal weapons. The next two teams are trickier." The laser pointer goes first to the Marshal's Office, and then the other one to the containment door to the Pit. "With twelve people holding the Deputies in their sights, these last two locations are the most important. The containment door to the Pit only so they don't have a bunkered location to run to. And... the Marshal will need to be confronted and dragged out of his office as soon as humanly possible in case he had contingency plans placed on his terminal. While I _doubt_ he will have incriminating evidence on his work station... we make our living exploiting such fallacies, and I wouldn't put past that there might be something useful on it." Yeah, Stacy agreed with that, nodding her head. "Unfortunately, Bart's going to be the biggest problem. He knows what he's done, and the sight of a military team breaking in will have him reach the conclusion quickly. He will either knuckle up or bunker down. We can't afford either, but one of them _will_ happen.

"I fully expect him to shoot and kill someone."

The conference room was silent for a moment with that comment.

"Fuck, sheila." Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason spoke up, his tone jovial. "I'm use t' dealin' with drunk'n Marine blokes wit' cabin fever in a tiny bolthole o' a boat wit' some shiv. A proper fight? Sign me up. I'll be the first in that door." Val's head snapped over to Royce, looking at the Australian, her heart shuttering for a moment. _Royce, what the fuck are you thinking?_ The Deputy just said the guy was armed with a S+W Magnum, and was rumored to be some fucking gunslinger. First man through _that_ door was likely to be a dead man.

"Senior Chief, we really need him alive." Collins reiterated. That wasn't a plea for justice, to slap the man in a prison cell to feel like they had fought the good fight. If this guy had been aiding slavers, they needed this guy to talk, and they needed to prosecute him like... yesterday. The Systems Alliance was going to have to smash a Marshal like a cockroach just to prove to the other races they weren't fucking around. Stacy didn't like it, but it was as the Deputy brought up earlier; what would humanity think if the role had been reversed? While the Master Chief didn't _like_ aliens, she didn't necessarily _hate_ them, either. But there were plenty of humans that did, and might not think enslaving a few spikes, noodles, or geckos as necessarily a bad thing. No, they needed to ride the white horse on this one. Stacy had been in service enough years to know the politics of it, to know that the Deputy was right. They needed the fucker alive only so they could set him on fire in front of God and absolutely _everybody_.

"No worries, cowboy. I'll get the git an' make sure he's got a pulse afterwards." The Senior Chief nodded, his tone so assured that Stacy believed him. She knew that Mason would be as good as his word; he had an impressive record of arrests and apprehensions on his record, and he had never lost a suspect to violence, nor an innocent. If there was anyone that actually pull it off, it would be Royce Abraham Mason. Australians were tough bastards, and Royce was just the epitome of their hearty kind. "Gotta admit, ya know how t' plan an assault. They teach ya Deputies that at the Academy?"

"No. I learned in Revan." Collins replied softly, the haunted look in her eyes returned, and Royce grimaced, obviously realizing his _faux pas_. "I'd like to say this is child's play compared to the House of Horrors, except this may be just as important. Thinking an op easy or routine will be the one that will most likely having you catch a bullet in the forehead, to boot." Yeah, wasn't that the sorry and shitty truth? Deputy Collins certainly had a good head on her shoulders, screwed on right and tight. "Besides, I had a pretty good couple mentors to observe and emulate. I think they'd be proud that I was paying attention."

"You going to be able to pull the trigger on one of them if necessary?" Valentino asked, looking at the Deputy in a meaningful way. It was hard killing a fellow human being. It was even harder when you knew them. Names and faces just added to that guilt.

"I've had worse." Collins supplied softly, looking lost in thought. Yeah, it would bother her, but Stacy didn't doubt that the Deputy would if the situation called for it. This was a young woman who just cleared out a _fucking_ slaver's haven that supposedly had something like fifty-plus combatants. She didn't know the details, or how many had gone in, just that Deputy Sam Collins had come back injured and alive... and the slavers apprehended or dead. Supposedly, the big boss had his face smashed in courtesy of a rifle butt to the face. Val tried to imagine what it must have been like, clearing out a dam colonial pre-fab facility meant for thousands, engaging so many assailants, walking into rooms filled with horrors. Breeding rooms? Ones filled with dead children. Yeah, the Master Chief could fully agree that Collins had had worse.

Now it was time for her to face her betrayer.

* * *

The stack was set outside of the Marshal's Office, the building constructed out of real materials on the planet, not some hand-me-down pre-fab or cheap piece of shit like much of Nova Yekaterinburg. Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino didn't doubt that the home office of the Alliance Frontier Marshals made sure their rugged buildings were up-to-spec and afforded with quality materials and equipment, unlike the trash that Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation dropped on the miners and called it manna. It was just proof of what the Systems Alliance was capable of when they shelled out the Credits... and just what fucking toolbags EAEC were to the very people that was carving up rock and earth to line their pockets with.

The twenty-four man team stood ready inside the interior compound of the Marshal's Office, four teams of six lined up and ready to rock.

Master Chief stood in Team Two, the one responsible for going through the office and cutting off the store room that acted as an armory for the Marshal's Office. She was the lead of the stack, which was generally how the Navy did things. Marines tended to throw someone expendable up front to catch the rounds at the off-set, but one never did credit the Marine Corps with an abundance of brains. No, experience was needed, and Val was going to beeline straight for that store room, engaging anyone that tried to access it before they could lock it down with bodies and gunfire. There wouldn't be much in the way of cover, but that was the price for raids and assaults. The true weapons were surprise and audacity, and if they did it right, then the people inside would be caught with their proverbial pants around their ankles. Team Four was next to her, led by Chief Petty Officer Daniel Paul Simmons of the SSV _Charger_ , his team stacked behind him. His responsibility was to lockdown the Pit.

Across from her, on the other side of the door that they would be kicking in (figuratively; the door slid open) was Teams One and Three. Three was headed up by Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, the Australian up front and ready to go. Out of everyone, he had the toughest, most dangerous job; the actual office of the Marshal himself. As a key figure and a High-Value Target, a team would always break off from the main group to capture whomever the ringleader was, as it was generally assumed said ringleader would contain the most intel. With the intel that the Naval Security Team had, they knew their target as well as one could expect to know them; better, actually. Most times one could be lucky to know their name and what they looked like. Mason was going to be entering in, informed of weapon of choice and proficiency with said weapon. That was a damn sight better than the standard affair. She wasn't pleased that Royce volunteered himself for what was likely the most dangerous job in the assault, but if anyone could do it and succeed, it was Royce Mason.

Team One was being led by Deputy Sam Collins.

This was the tricky part; Systems Alliance Military had no legal arrest authority outside of military installations. Despite being a Military Police Officer, Master Chief Valentino couldn't arrest a serial killer who was showing his ass to her a meter in front of her to save her life unless the man pulled out a gun and tried shooting at her. The Systems Alliance Charter had been written thirty years prior by men who wanted clear delineation between the separate departments and branches of governments, and had painstakingly written the constitution in clear legal language that had been read, edited, proofread, and probably gone over a dozen times by lawyers and analysts. Fortunately, those same men had built contingencies for when the Charter didn't come up with the right answers that were needed during more difficult times. So while the military had no legal authority to arrest someone outside of a military compound, they could gain _temporary_ authority to do so based upon the ancient laws of _posse comatatus_. If a law enforcement agent (like, say, an Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy) was in need of assistance, they could garner the help of the Systems Alliance Military. MP's, such as Val and Mason, would be temporarily deputized and free to detain and arrest persons who were breaking the law. There were caveats to that rule, of course, but nothing terrible. Collins _had_ to be a part of the team, not in some building half a planet away to ensure the letter of the law was being followed. That didn't necessarily mean she had to be in a stack, but Stacy doubted the Deputy was going to sit out in the compound and wait to hear how things went.

This woman cleared out the House of Horrors, after all. An office should be cakewalk.

 _"Go in three."_ Deputy Collins called out softly from her position at the front of Team One, the Breach Team standing alongside the wall of the Marshal's Office Compound, just short of the door that would lead them to the interior of the office itself. Team Three was just to their right, and would enter after Team Two did. It was almost synchronized ballet, the way they would thread in and go into their positions. Raids and assaults such as these were as much an art form as they were an act of superiority, and humanity had gotten it down to a science.

 _"One."_

The helmeted vox called out, as everyone got into their ready stance, bodies pressed into one another to minimize space used and speed up the assault with as little distance covered as possible. Urban Combat Tactics was practiced religiously among the many branches and departments in the Systems Alliance, and the rulebook was standardized so that one person (such as a Deputy) and another (such as a Navy MP) could work fluidly without stumbling or making rookie mistakes.

 _"Two."_

The Teams were ready, the men were ready, and Stacy gripped her Nexus Gladius Battle Rifle in her hands appropriately as she setting the butt of the rifle into her shoulder, readying herself for the high-speed sprint she would be executing right behind Team One, possibly under return fire. This could get bloody, but it was well-planned, and had the hallmarks of being well-executed. Yeah, she was ready to put some foot-to-ass into some corrupt cops, sullying the name of law enforcement agents everywhere. Busting dirty cops was never a pleasant ordeal, but damn it felt _good_.

 _"Three."_

Team One executed a flawless tactical insertion, a choir of _breach, breach, breach!_ echoing through the vox's of Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor helmets ringing out as the first six-man team punched through the pneumatically-sliding door of the Marshal's Office, clearing the fatal funnel that was the most dangerous location of any assault; where one could stop an assault with a weapon, causing maximum casualties if prepared. Team One filed in at a tactical double-time, speed mixed with control as the Team fanned out in a row, a six-man front meant to cover as much of a room as possible with fields of fire, overlapping arcs of engagement in case of an attacking defender, and maximum volume if needed. As the sixth man went in, Seaman Apprentice Odinero turning into the door to bull his way in, Master Chief Stacy Valentino pivoted and went right in, hot on his heels.

She entered the office without even looking forward, turning immediately to the right.

Stacy's eyes touched on her objective, the store room door with the simple keypad that would give anyone in the Marshal's Office access to the lethal munitions weapons. It was just a simple steel door, and it was closed. taking no chances and regardless of the situation, she stormed ahead, bulling past the front desk and over a small wooden wall meant to be the boundary between the public area and the area reserved for the Marshal and his Deputies. She vaulted the one meter wall with ease by placing her hand on the top and leaping over it in a parkour maneuver known as a speed vault; approaching the obstacle in a direct line, reaching out with one arm forward, placing the hand flat on top of the obstacle, shifting the weight from the feet to the shoulders, and then launching the body off the ground and kicking the outer leg sideways to go over the obstacle with speed and and low center of gravity and profile. She landed the vault with ease as her left leg hit the ground and she continued her way towards the door with little loss of momentum or speed. So far, she hadn't heard any gunfire yet as she kept her Gladius Battle Rifle at port arms to ensure a sturdy and proper grip on her weapon as she ran.

She reached the store room door less than four seconds after breaching the Office.

Store room door closed as supposedly locked, Master Chief Valentino pivoted and aimed her weapon into the deeper portion of the Office, bringing another field of fire up to clear the far corner of the Office as she pressed her body weight into the secured door just in case there was someone already inside the store room, preventing them from leaving. Now that she wasn't running and jumping around like a monkey, she had eyes on the situation in the Marshal's Office to see why there hadn't been any real gunfire yet, just a lot of yelling of _stay where you are!_ and _hands up!_ Her weapon immediately trained towards the office door that would lead to the actual Marshal's office as she dropped her weapon for a moment as Teams Three and Four bypassed her to the front; the rest of her Team they had tactically bounded behind, but since she was responsible for the security of the armory, she would be the only assaulting member out-of-position. There were already eleven weapons trained on the occupants of the room, as Senior Chief Mason and Chief Simmons bounded forward towards their objectives, moving with aclarity and precision. Within seconds, Team Three bypassed the Pit Door and moved towards the back wall where the offices were while Team Four locked-down access to the Jail. Team Three immediately proceeded to the Marshal's office, where Mason wasted no time actually kicking in the physical wooden door and breeched inside.

The whole exercise, from start to finish, lasted ten seconds.

Ten Marshal Deputies had been sitting at there respective desks when the Naval Security Team had breached the Office, working at their duties and responsibilities when Deputy Sam Collins led the assault. Within two and a half seconds, all six members of Team One were in the 'lobby' of the Office, their weapons trained over the vast majority of the office with fields of fire and aggressive demands of obedience. The act was a shock to the Deputies, as raids were meant to be an act of surprise and audacity, using the element of surprise and violence to stun opponents into a stupor, gaining the advantage and overwhelming the situation. By the time Stacy had reached the store room door, physically blocking it with her body by taking a knee in front of it and using her bodyweight as a door-stopper, five seconds had past and the vast majority of Team Two were already in position, adding their weapons and threats alongside Team One, while Teams Three and Four were filing behind them, moving towards their respective locations. When Team Three bypassed the Pit and Team Four took up residence in front of the Jail access eight seconds after breach, there were seventeen weapons pointing at the shocked Deputies who were looking at the sailors with expressions that were ranging from shock, stupidification, and out-right terror. They were literally surrounded on three sides, forward, flank, and rear, outnumbered and outmatched. The devastating effect of a planned breach against an unsuspecting opponent gave them the time to take charge and provide overwhelming superiority against their opponents; not one of the Deputies had reacted fast enough to draw their service-issued Glock 18C Machine Pistols. By the time reality and realization had set in, even the toughest of them knew it was over before they could get a chance to respond.

The final act was when Marshal Weathers was sent flying out of his office with no dignity whatsoever, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Flawless execution.

"What is the meaning behind this!"

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino stood from her kneeling position now that all of the officers had been accounted for, moving to where her position was located on the far right of the Team, seeing one of the older Deputies looking around at the now twenty-four Battle Rifles pointed at the ten Deputies and one Marshal who was wise enough not to get up from his position on the floor, having rolled over onto his back to stare at Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason and his team. Stacy saw that Mason had a new weapon mag-locked to his equipment belt at his waist; a Smith and Wesson Model 696. The Marshal had been disarmed. That was good. That was one down unless Weathers had a back-up piece, which the Master-at-Arms didn't discount. Old-school cops were like that.

"Sit down and stay down!" Came from Petty Officer Third Class Valerie Laguna, the Bravo Squad Leader of the SSV _Canberra's_ NST. Her Nexus Gladius was aimed right at the Deputy in question, who had been about to stand up to demand answers. The Deputy looked to Laguna and wisely kept to his seat, though his eyes were hard and rebellious.

"Do you have any idea who we are? Who _I_ am?" Marshal Bartholomew Weathers spoke up, his gravely voice angry and indignant. "You're Systems Alliance Navy! You have no arrest authority here."

 _"Yes. They do."_

That had the Marshal and the Deputies looking at the speaker.

"Sam?" One of the younger Deputies asked, turning his seat to look at the SA military-clad Deputy, obviously recognizing her voice through the vox in her helmet. The look on his face was one of... utter surprise, Val noted. "I thought you were transferred to some cush job on Elysium." Several of the Deputies looked over to the Marshal, who was openly scowling. Stacy made a note of who they were; possibly collaborators. Some were still looking at their fellow Deputy with shock and confusion. Perhaps everyone wasn't in on it.

The Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle was mag-locked to her chest as Deputy Sam Collins extracted the helmet from her head to look upon the room with cold, hard, merciless blue eyes.

"On authority of the Systems Alliance Charter and the powers invested in me by the Systems Alliance Ministry of Justice," Collins announced in a loud, clear voice, undoubtedly recording everything on her Omnitool, "all of you are hear by placed under arrest for multiple violations and breaches in the Systems Alliance Code of Ethics and Protected Rights Towards Sapient Beings. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you can and do say will be used against you in the Alliance Courts of Law. You have the right to a defense councilor. If you cannot afford a defense councilor, one will be provided by the Office of Public Councilors. Are any of you not in understanding of the rights that I have just declared for you?"

Most of the Deputies looked shell-shocked at the fact that they had just been Miranda'ed. A few look sick. One was hostile. Marshal Weathers looked ugly and violent.

 _"Wouldn't do it, mate."_ Mason warned the Marshal, his Gladius only a little more than a meter away from the fallen Marshal. _"Take yer lumps like a pro'pa gov'na."_

"W-what are the charges?" That was the same Deputy who had recognized Sam's voice. He looked like he was going to throw up. Stacy had to guess that he probably wasn't much older than Deputy Collins herself. Probably around twenty-five. If she had to bet hard money, she'd wager that the kid probably didn't have a clue what was going on, blindsided. There were a couple she'd place that bet on, actually, based upon their faces.

"Three hundred and four counts of murder." The Deputy began, her voice cold... almost soulless. Her face was filled with professional fury, not an ounce of mercy in it. "Two hundred and sixty-four counts of adult slavery." That had the wagered one's eyes almost popping out, while two of the older-looking Deputies looked like they were trying to hold back from saying something. "Two hundred and sixty-four counts of kidnapping." A few Deputies were exchanging looks of shock. "Forty-eight counts of falsification of government-issued customs declarations. Forty-eight counts of bribery. Forty-eight counts of corruption." A few Deputies were grimacing. Yeah, Stacy thought she had the guilty ones pegged now. "Forty-one counts of negligent homicide." _Oops, that's right boys; every person who was killed on Revan would go on your heads, not Collins'._ Of course, with the murder charges, negligent homicide was small potatoes. But the Deputy hadn't read the granddaddy of them all, yet.

"Ten thousand counts of child slavery."

"But they were smuggle..." One of the Deputies had popped up, crying out his guilt. Good boy. He realized his mistake as he cut himself short, his eyes widening as several of his co-workers looked at him, either with shock or fury.

"What the fuck have you _done?_ " The young Deputy jumped up, anger overriding self-preservation. He was oblivious to the three Battle Rifles that were tracking his movements as the Deputy rounded on the man who had spoken, and obviously seeing some of the cringed faces of his co-workers. "Murder? _Slavery?_ You told us she was transferred to Elysium, Marshal! What the fuck did you do!"

" _Chad!_ " Collins' voice cut through the excitement as the Deputy, Chad, turned to look at her, his face a mishmash of emotions. "Sit. Please." Those words were soft but commanding, and the Deputy in question seemed to recall that there was about twenty-four Battle Rifles that were aimed at them. He sat down, looking angry and confused. "Each and every one of you will be arrested and detained for the foreseeable future to determine knowledge, extent of involvement, and proof of such. For those who are innocent of what was going on, you have my sincere apologies, but this must be done just as much to clear your names as it will punish the guilty to the full extent of the law. I suggest surrendering quietly to the NST's. They just spent the past couple of days cataloging and collecting dead babies, and I doubt any of them are in a good mood." Of course that wasn't true, but it would certainly keep the armed Deputies in line as oppose to fighting it out.

 _"Ya' boys are cops, ya' know the drill."_ Royce replied through his vox, his tone way too cheerful. _"Pecker-holders up an' behind yer heads."_

All things considered, apprehension and arrest went off without a hitch.

That wasn't to say that it went _quietly_. Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino watched as the procession of searching and disarming the ten Deputies moved into apprehension and arrest, each of the men filed into the Pit one at a time to prevent any kind of assault or escape attempt. Some were appalled at what was happening, subsequently the same ones that Stacy thought were probably innocent of the whole affair. Some looked down-right nauseated, probably ones that had been paid to look away on a smugglers' operation and not a slaver ring. Others looked either furious or defeated, obviously the ones who were neck-deep in the affair and knew that the noose was going to be slipping around their necks soon. There were words exchanged from Deputy to sailor; threats, pleas, begging... the usual. One or two looked at Deputy Collins with expressions of wounded pride, and honestly Val couldn't blame those ones. She wouldn't want to be wrongfully arrested, but once the truth came out the Master Chief didn't doubt they would see why it would need to be done. Others looked at her akin to a traitor. Fuck those ones.

It took approximately thirty minutes for the eleven men to be searched and seized, giving their new homes in the Pit, one man per cell. Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason had a grand old time searching Marshal Bartholomew Weathers, Navy-style. That was to say that he wasn't gently, wasn't above to contorting a few limbs or joints for cooperation, and the ever-popular nut-tap and credit-card swipe were most definitely employed. To his credit, the Marshal was as quiet as a church mouse, never saying a word with his mouth. His eyes blazed with anger all too loudly, but Val could have given a shit less. He sided with slavers and Batarians. The man should be set on fire and burned alive.

Thirty minutes later, peace and quiet reigned in the Marshal's Office as the last of the suspects was tossed in the Pit.

The Master-at-Arms found Deputy Sam Collins sitting in the Marshal's Office a little bit later, obviously having found a way into his IntraNet account. The young woman's fingers were flying on the Haptic keyboard, probably typing close to a hundred words a minute, her eyes glued to the terminals' holographic screen. Whatever she was working on had her full and undivided attention. Stacy waited for a moment, leaning against the wooden doorframe that had suffered some damage when Royce had kicked the door in, ripping out a part of the jam.

"I do see you there, Master Chief." The Deputy said as she continued to work, her eyes never leaving the holographic screen. "Tell Senior Chief Mason that his work was excellent; Marshal went for his gun, not his computer. Got lucky on that regard, too."

"We did, mostly because you had good intelligence and good planning." Val admitted, Collins' eyes finally ungluing themselves from the screen. "Wouldn't expect some backwater cop who fell off the school bus to be able to come up with a good plan like that. I've seen Marine Lieutenants do much worse, and they're trained for that kind of shit. Few years older, to boot."

"Can you believe I'm not even old enough to legally drink on Earth?" The Deputy asked, her face amused as Stacy answered with a snort. "A lot of those human women on Revan were my age, some were a little younger. Can you imagine waking up two or three years later, a mother of twelve to fifteen?" Collins' face went dark. "I remember... finding them there, laid out on tables, naked. Like products or science experiments." The young woman shook her head, obviously trying to banish the memory. "They never had a chance. No one bothered asking their ages or what their dreams were. Now they're waking up with that kind of baggage that a person should never have to deal with. What are my problems compared to theirs?"

"Not small problems, 'gel." Royce popped up from behind, holding something behind his back, the doorframe hardly big enough to hold two people at the same time, armor not withstanding. "Them sheila's aren't still there 'cuz o' ya. Them joeys aren't there 'cuz o' ya. Ya did well, don' be thinkin' nutin' less 'n it, 'gel. Now ya be gettin' those who be richly deservin' their fates, savin' the rest of us blokes. I'd say yer problems are pretty mighty indeed. Which is why ya gonna be needin' these." The Australian tossed two objects together towards Collins, which was really just a belt of the Sam Browne kind. On one side of it was a mag-lock Kylex holster with a gun in it. It was a Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver.

Next to the holster was the badge of a five-pointed star with the word 'MARSHAL' engraved.

"Last I heard," Mason continued, sounding completely innocent, "ya law enforcement types are 'lot like us military types. When th' top man goes down, th' next one up takes 'is place. Seems like ya holdin' the top dog position now." The Deputy looked at the belt that once circled the waist of her boss, with his badge and his gun on it. "Seem a right shame t' have that badge there tarnished wit' no one t' clean it up right 'n pro'pa."

"Should I?" The young woman asked, looking up at the two Navy Non-Coms with questioning eyes. "I mean, I'm not even twenty yet! Marshals are usually cops with years of experience."

"That's why you got us for the time being... Marshal." Stacy smiled a crooked smile. "Don't go waiting on our account. Put that sucker on and see how it feels."

Deputy Sam Collins slowly stood from the chair she had been sitting in, Sam Browne belt in hand as she slowly encircled it around her armored waist, the Onyx Armor still on her as she fed the belt through its loop and cinched it tight around her waist. The young woman looked down upon the belt, the gun, and the badge, her fingers tracking the five pointed star surrounded by a circular border, touching the word 'MARSHAL'.

"It's... a little loose." The young woman admitted sheepishly, the belt set at a cocky angle. Well, it had been made for an older man's waist, not a young woman's curves, Val thought with a smirk.

"Give it some time, Marse. I think ye'll find it'll fit just fine." Royce replied softly.

"Perhaps." Collins allowed, a ghost of a smile upon her lips. "In the mean time, we've got a lot of work ahead of us. Royce, I'm going to need whomever knows computers to go through everything on the database and start cataloging everything. Messages, personal accounts, diginotes... the works. If there's a breath or a mention of Revan or someone's involvement, I want it copied and saved and put into evidence hard drives. Get two men for prisoner detail, and another four for calls and complaints. This is the Marshal's Office, and despite all that has happened, the law still needs to be upheld."

"Aye aye, Marse." Mason saluted smartly, a slightly smart-ass smirk on his face. Stacy chuckled as Collins sighed.

"And have someone fix my door. Some Aussie put his foot through it." That had Stacy laugh. "Me and Master Chief have got an appointment that I'm _not_ looking forward to while you play house, Senior Chief."

"Dare I ask?" Val wondered.

"Someone's got to inform the Colonial Governor and the Eldfell-Ashland Director what's happening." Collins replied, sighing. "As much as I loath that meeting, having them on my side and working with me is infinitely better than them trying to undermine me or having the wrong impression set. We certainly don't want the good citizens of No'burg realizing that the Marshal's Office just got purged and having riots or creating mayhem. When we get back, I'll update the duty roster and back brief the team on expectations and duties before I start writing the Home Office for replacements and a whole lot of EN-mails to reply to. Ugh."

"Sounds like _two_ busy weeks." Mason quipped.

"Indeed. Let's get to work." Marshal Sam Collins finalized, and both Master Chief Valentino and Senior Chief Mason saluted.

* * *

Author's Note: Manna - the stuff of the Gods. In Exodus, this is what the Lord dropped on the Israelites during their flight from Egypt and through the lands of Goshen. Some sort of perfect food that, as far as I'm aware, no one's ever been able to discern or account for in a more modern sense.

Navy-style search - Actually, I'm liking this to what we did when we searched suspects in the Army. Remember, we're not the police. If we did in America what we did in Iraq, we'd lose every case of police brutality thrown at us, I bet. Then again, we were searching terrorists, bombers, makers, gunmen, and torturers. We certainly didn't enforce traffic law (other than the obvious 'stay the fuck away from us or we'll riddle you with bullets' law). The 'credit card swipe' is a search of the anus with the blade of your hand, rubbing down the orifice like a credit card in case something is stashed there.

Sam Browne Belt - The actual name of the belt that police wear that is their equipment belt. No, I don't know who Sam Browne actually is.

Marse - An old American South term for 'Master', in polite form. It was used in Antebellum times, as well as in the Old West. In this case, it means Marshal.

Evidently, I invented my own conspiracy theory. Talking about Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation, I abbreviated it to 'EA'. Which is likened to another evil corporation that we all know titled 'EA'... :)


	13. Therum, III

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 10 May 2175**

Author's Notes: And now for the part we've all been waiting for... POLITICS! (snore)

* * *

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino waited in the lobby of the Colonial Governor Building, a small waiting room that at least had the comforts of air conditioning and padded seats to sit upon as she and Marshal Sam Collins waited to be let into the Governor's Office. Both had stripped out of their Aldrin Labs' Light Onyx Armor and put on their respective uniforms; for Stacy, it was her Alliance Blues Battle Duty Uniform, with her rank on the upper sleeves and her name and service upon her chest. The uniform had been sent to the SA Compound for her for this meeting, as well as that of the rest of the Naval Security Team, though they would remain in armor while on duty. Collins, on the other hand, dressed like a lawman of old; black leather cowboy boots, rip-stop blue jeans, a white buttoned-up dress shirt under a black sports blazer, and a no-bullshit black cowboy hat. The belt that Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason had collected for her was around her slim waist, still at a cocky angle, the Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver threatening to pull it down off her hips. The Marshal's badge was clipped just to the right of the Sam Brown belt buckle, and another had been pinned to the lapel of her blazer. All in all, she looked like a lawman should; a no-frills hardass ready to dispense justice at a moments' notice. Stacy had a Deputy's badge clipped to her own military blouse, which let her be armed on Therum. She was carrying her Hadne-Keder Kessler service-issued pistol on her right hip, and a pacification baton on her left in case someone 'got cheeky', as Royce would put it. She hadn't zap-tapped someone in a while, and pulling grunt cop work in Nova Yekaterinburg would probably reset that counter here real soon.

It was like being transported back to the Wild Wild West days.

Marshal Collins was sitting in a chair next to Stacy, reviewing her notes and information before the meeting with the Governor of Therum, Colonial Governor Adam Benson. While the man was most likely a puppet of Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corps, he was still the head administrator of the planet. That could be a good friend or a bad enemy to have, and considering the amount of work Collins was going to be doing, the young woman was going to need all the friends she could get. Thankfully, it seemed that she had a good head on her shoulders. Young? Yeah. Naive? Possibly. An idiot? No, not by any stretch of the imagination. Stacy and Royce would give her advice and experience to back her plays up when she had questions, like Non-Coms were suppose to do. They'd haul the trash and keep the decks clean while she worked on what would probably be the biggest case in her life. It was as she said earlier in the conference room in the SA Compound; the investigation had to be ran at tip-top shape and air-tight to boot to keep anyone from thinking anyone else other than the perpetrators were involved. Purging her entire office had probably hurt her on a personal level, but she had the balls to be the first through the door and arrest them for the sakes of mankind.

Those old-school cowboy lawmen of the Wild West days would be proud of their modern-day space-age successor.

"Master Chief." Collins' youthful voice brought Stacy out of her reverie, turning her attention to the Marshal. "Here's a quick synops of what's going to happen. I'm going to inform the Governor, and probably the EA Director, of what transpired on Revan and the Marshal's Office, and why it happened. They're going to squawk and sputter, and then I'm going to give them an easy out; plausible deniability as long as I am the lead investigator of the case and in charge of the Marshal's Office. I'll give them options for damage control and how to spin this so they come out looking good, and they'll be eating out of my palms before the hours' done."

"Damn. You don't fuck around, do you?" Val asked, impressed. She was really going to pull it off, wasn't she?

"I had six days to plan this out." The Marshal smiled, turning only one corner of her mouth upward. "I'm prepared, they aren't. I'll talk their lingo, and say what they want to hear. Everyone walks away happy."

"Sounds good." The Master-at-Arms replied, nodding. "So... why am I here then?"

"Honestly... my age." That had the young woman grimace. "They've never met me before, and they're going to see a _girl_. I can slap a badge on and tell them it's all right and proper, which it is, but the fact I'm not even twenty is going to make them balk." Yeah, that was certainly true. "You've got age and experience, and they're going to see that standing right by my side. Since you're military, you _can't_ be Marshal, but if they remove me... it's Martial Law. Nobody wants that."

"No." Damn, this girl had it figured out all right. That was a hell of a carrot and a stick that she had offering. So Collins was going to play smart and ready, and Stacy was the veiled threat. She could do that. "I'll try not to breath in and out of my mouth _too_ hard, Marshal."

"Just embrace your inner-Marine." Collins replied, completely straight-faced, but her blue eyes danced with mirth.

"Brat."

* * *

"Governor Benson, I'm glad you were able to adjust your schedule for us on such a short notice." Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino watched as an older gentlemen of about sixty stood up from his seat behind his desk to shake the proffered hand aimed at him. "Marshal Samantha Collins, Marshal of Therum." The Governor's face fell at the sound of that as he shook Collins' hand, obviously blindsided. They weren't alone in the room; two others were in there with them. One was a man in an expensive-looking three-piece suit, approximately early-forties, and another in a military-styled uniform of grey with the acronym EASC pinned above his heart, accompanied with four stars pinned upon his collar like a General or Admiral. This was obviously the 'Chief' of the Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps. "Director Dukakis." Collins shook hands with the executive next, obviously the Director of Operations for Eldfell-Ashland on Therum. "Chief Whitaker." The Chief of Security was last as all three men returned to their seats, while Marshal Collins and Master Chief Valentino sat in the ones offered to them. Girl had done her homework; she knew names and faces, didn't need introductions, and immediately started off things on a good (if surprising) foot. Keep them smiling and off-balanced.

"Where's Marshal Weathers?" Chief of Security Marcus Whitaker asked. Collins had backfilled her on the possible people they _could_ meet. She had scheduled the meeting as 'Marshal Collins, AFMS' without saying _where_ she was stationed. That had been a good ploy; Frontier Marshals were stationed on colonies and such while _Federal_ Marshals were roving lawmen. It was generally a bad idea to turn down a Marshal, and she let them be under the impression that she might be a Federal Marshal as oppose to a Frontier Marshal. Point on her side.

"Marshal Weathers is currently in the Pit, under arrest for a wide variety of crimes, to include collusion of slavery, corruption, bribery, negligent homicide, and several more in the upcoming days." Collins went right to work, her eyes right on the Security Chief. "As the lead investigator to the case that is on-going, it is up to me to determine what he knew, what he was responsible for, and how much the rest of the Marshal's Office knew and were involved in. Evidence suggests others were at least applicable into some of the alleged crimes."

"This is a disaster." Governor Adam Benson commented, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. " _Collusion_ of slavery? This is going to give us a massive black eye." The man was looking at Director Edward Dukakis when he said that. The puppet was stating the obvious to his master.

"Not necessarily, not if we play our cards right and spin this in the proper light." Collins replied, getting the three men's attention. She certainly had it. "Marshal Weathers was most definitely responsible for falsification of legal documents pertaining to Customs Declaration Logs for inbound/outbound vessels that were leaving the Knossos System, not landing on Therum. That gives us plausible deniability." Chief Whitaker's mouth hung slightly open as the EA Director slowly nodded. "If any questions about any involvement come to you or your desk, heap the blame on _former_ Marshal Weathers. You expected him to do his job, and you do not have the authority to check or correct that. That will buy you time and grace in case the public or the media starts putting two and two together."

"And there will be questions." Director Dukakis nodded. "As for the case?"

"Refer them to me. That's my job." The Marshal didn't smile, but her face was certainly saying that she was enjoying it. "While a case is on-going, no details can be released until trial. That gives you a solid alibi towards any involvement. If it ever comes out that any of the vessels in question _may_ have landed on Therum for any reason whatsoever, I have the evidence that will prove that Colonial Administration and Eldfell-Ashland had _nothing_ to do with it. I suggest getting some PR people spun up with some reactions and comments about the case to explain how devastated you are upon learning of such things, the tragedy that occurred in the Thermopile System, and full cooperation towards the investigation and humanitarian aid efforts that are under way. You'll come out looking good, won't suffer an investor panic attack, stocks might actually bump up a point or two, and operations can continue on as usual."

"Excuse me, but who the _fuck_ are you?" Chief Whitaker asked, his tone belligerent. "And what fucking _daycare_ did you stumble out of?" Well, Collins pegged that one; her age was going to be a factor.

"I'm the one that cleaned up and cleared out the House of Horrors." The Marshal looked at the Chief with eyes that didn't waver and promised nothing good. Cops eyes staring down the fakin' bacon. To her credit, the Security Chief did look a little taken aback. "I'm the one that found it in the first place." That had the man look... worried? Something to look into? "I'm the one that went and arrested _everyone_ in the Marshal's Office, _tabula rasa_ , and brought not only their replacements, but doubled the amount of law enforcement agents to continue enforcing the law in No'burg while operations continue." Collins leaned forward, the aire around her menacing. "And the next time you disrespect me or my station, Chief Whitaker, I'll start thinking that perhaps the Marshal's Office wasn't the only ones in on it..." She let her voice peter off, the threat very much apparent. The man sank back into his chair, properly chastised. Damn, girl just showdown'ed a man probably twice her age and came out on top. Stacy wonder if she had rehearsed that speech or not. Either way, it was a damn good slap in the face to remind the men that she wasn't one to fuck around with, young or not. "Now can the _grown ups_ talk now?"

Damn. That had to burn.

"Please, continue on Marshal." Director Dukakis replied, giving a glance towards the Chief of Security that strongly suggested that no further interruptions would be necessary. If the Director of Eldfell-Ashland on Therum was using her title, then he was obviously taking her serious. That was big plus in the win column. "It seems that you've already had this figured out."

"Of course." The Marshal replied, returning her attention to the true power on the colony. "You see, I saw what was going on, and I know what is going to happen. There is a storm coming, gentlemen; a huge _fucking_ storm." Her eyes bore in on them, and Stacy watched on. She wished she had some popcorn. "You see, I was in the House of Horrors, and I know what I saw down there. Now everyone is pulling together to get those women the help they need, along with all those children, and that's all they are seeing right now. But when clean-up is done and the tears are dry, the questions are going to come." Governor Benson shifted slightly in his chair. "Who. What. When. Where. And _why_." That last one was emphasized for good measure. "A good many someones are going to want heads to roll, gentlemen, and passionate people aren't smart and don't listen, especially when children are involved. The media has been all over the tragedy of it, keeping the right questions from being asked, but sooner or later, those questions will be asked. And when they do, do you think they are going to care to wait for a full-length investigation? No, gentlemen. They are going to look at a _map_ and assign guilt." That had the Governor go pale and the Director frown deeply. "They are going to take one look at our little _human_ colony and guess who is going to take the blame?"

"Oh shit..." Benson sounded like he was going to throw up. He was definitely connecting the dots now.

"That's right. But I've got that one covered, too." The Marshal continued, looking at the three men. "You see, when I went to that base, I recorded everything because I am a cop. I know who was involved, and I know what they were doing. Obviously, there will be a witch hunt, but it would be best that we handle it in-house as soon as possible before accusations start flying. So when some asshole sensationalist reporter with more bra than brain cells starts asking the mud-slinging questions? You can stomp on her ass hard and righteous because you let me do my job with _no_ interference and without me having to answer to your beck-and-call every five minutes. I will keep you appraised and in the loop, but my main duty will be the security of this colony and the witch hunt I will be performing so that the guilty suffer instead of _everyone_."

"That bad?" Governor Benson asked, looking green at the gills.

"That bad." Marshal Collins confirmed, nodding her head, no doubt in her voice. "There were Elcor Cows and Turian hatchlings involved. Not to mention Dalatrasses, Maidens, Drell females, and human women. We remind the media that there were victims of _many_ species, including our own, and that it was kept hidden from us from figures of authority who are now incarcerated and being fully investigated as we speak, and that makes us look like we were wronged and putting it right. This isn't about our colony, gentlemen. This is preventing a _war_."

"I see." Director Edward Dukakis nodded slowly, thinking it over for a moment. "Then it is obvious that for the sakes of all, we shall do as you advise, Marshal. As you mentioned, you've thought this out, and have come up with a solution that will work in everyone's favor if we cooperate mutually. I will send a report to the main office on Earth to get our Public Relations Corps spun up and pushing out an interest story and press conference. You are correct; being on top of this and looking like the victim will be the best course of action at this time. Obviously, you are more aware of the situation than the rest of us because of the media blackout due to rescue efforts and military operations," that was pretty standard among most militaries, as Stacy understood it, "so having an in gives us the benefit of the doubt and will make us look like the good guys. Which is what we want." He looked to Governor Benson. "Adam, push out to all colonial employees of our new Marshal. Make no mention of what happened to Marshal Weathers. Let them assume he retired and that Marshal Collins is merely his replacement."

"Understood, Director." Wow, there was no disguising that ventriloquist act. Stacy was at least wise and experienced enough not to let it show on her face.

"Marcus, let all EASC Guards know that the Marshals will receive our _full_ cooperation during the foreseeable future." Chief Whitaker looked like he had eaten a sour piece of candy from the way his face screwed up. "If the workers think that there is a weakness in the Marshal's Office, there will be riots and looting, something we can't afford. She asks, you deliver. _Period._ " _Job's on the line, asshole_ , Val snarked to herself while keeping her face still. The Eldfell-Ashland Chief of Security nodded once, briskly at that. He was going to swallow that bitter pill, wounded pride or not. Not unless he wanted to ended up face-first in the Market Square unemployed. There'd be a good many miners who would undoubtedly play street hockey with his kidneys if that happened.

"Now, Marshal," the Director's eyes flickered to Stacy for the first time, and back to Collins, "I note that you have an associate with you. I assume this was your solution to rectify the lack of Deputies for the time being?"

"That is correct." Collins replied, nodding her head. "Under the Systems Alliance Charter, the Marshal's Office is allowed to ask for military intervention in times of need that are not during times of war. Captain Hackett of the SSV _Marco Polo_ was gracious enough to lend me the use of the Battle Group _Moctezuma_ , which is stationed in high orbit of Therum at this time. I would like to introduce Master Chief Stacy Valentino of the SSV _Canberra_ , Master-at-Arms and Commanding Officer of Naval Security Team _Canberra_." That wasn't exactly how it was phrased, Stacy thought to herself, but the Marshal got it close enough for the civilians to understand. Val nodded, knowing that she wasn't there to talk. "Master Chief Valentino and twenty-three of her Military Police Officers are here to help safeguard the colony and to protect and serve. They are currently Deputized by myself to act in my authority and with my permission. As Marshal of Therum, they fall under my command, and they report to me."

"And if we don't honor your station, then the planet reverts to Martial Law with an active Battle Group hovering in our skies." Director Dukakis pointed out, nodding. "Very clever, Marshal. You've got an eye for politics and legal exploitation. Every letter of the law followed, with you holding the whip and the leash. Well played, indeed." The Chief of Security was about to open his mouth so more stupidity could fall out, but the Governor of Therum just looked at the man and shook his head; even Governor Benson could read the writing on the wall. "Governor Benson, do you have any objections accepting Marshal Collins at her post?" As Executive Branch Officer, a Colonial Governor could affirm or deny Judicial Branch Officers acceptance at the inception of their posts, as Val understood it. Once accepted, the Judicial Branch Officer served their term until complete (which was something like four years), until that particular Branch sent a replacement, or if they royally fucked it up, like Bart Weathers had. Technically, with Governor Benson's acceptance, Sam Collins would officially become the Marshal of Therum with or without the approval of the Alliance Frontier Marshal Services' recommendation or evaluation, as long as her predecessor was relieved of duty due to just cause.

"I accept." Colonial Governor Adam Benson nodded his head, and then pulled out from a drawer of his desk a Holy Bible, standing up. The Governor held the Bible in his right hand as Sam stood up, placing her left hand on the religious text and raised her right hand. "Repeat after me:

 _"I, Samantha Lynn Collins, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute all lawful precepts, directed from the Marshal of the Systems Alliance for the Artemis Tau Cluster, under the authority of the Systems Alliance, and true returns make, and in all things well and truly, and without malice or partiality, perform the duties of Marshal of the Artemis Tau Cluster and the Colony of Therum during my continuance in said office, and take only my lawful fees, so help me God."_

Val didn't bother to hide her smile. She also noted the frown that EASC Chief Marcus Whitaker had.

* * *

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins returned to the Marshal's Office admist a round of applause.

Sailors from the Naval Security Team were standing up and giving ovation as Sam walked into the Office, a huge grin splitting her face as the sound of clapping hands permeated the air in congratulations. She couldn't help but blush when she saw twenty-two sailors all rising to their feet, applauding her one and all as she entered. There were a few trill whistles as well as she entered into the office proper, going through the wooden swing door that acted as an entrance for the partition that separated lobby from office, Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino at her heels.

"Okay, okay, settle down, people." Collins motioned for the noise to lessen itself after it had been going on for about half-a-minute or so, the applause dying off. She saw that the sailors had been integrating themselves with the fifteen work stations that existed in the office, already hard at work. Most of them were the Non-Coms of the NST, more use to working on terminals and filing reports, while the lower Enlisted Personnel worked some of the grunt jobs. It occurred to her that she really had no idea how the hell she was suppose to run the whole thing. She had perhaps three weeks as a Deputy, and she honestly hadn't had one patrol in No'burg, working a desk and terminal during those three weeks. She remembered Marshal Weathers bringing her into his office to explain to her that assigning her to 'calls' (what they called when someone was breaking the law worse than usual in No'burg) was not going to happen for a while. Sam had been the only female in the office, and with a heavily male-dominated population in No'burg, being a lone woman was not a good idea. In fact, he had told her what had happened to their last female Deputy, one Jessica Leveque. Poor woman had answered a call involving a couple of drunks beating each other in one of the saloons, and she had been knocked out, dragged deep into the favalas, and gang-raped by something like a hundred plus men before other Deputies were able to respond.

Shit, she'd need to inform the Master Chief and Senior Chief that they'd be best working in teams for the next couple of weeks to get the locals use to the sight of Military Police. There'd be incidences, for sure.

"Listen up, Officers!" Collins raised her voice so that she could be heard, seeing that she had everyone's attention. "Today is a new day for all of us. I get to be top dog, and you get to sleep in beds tonight!" There were more than a few cheers on that note, sailors generally hot-bunking in sleeper pods. "That's the good news." _Shucks,_ someone said near the back of the office good-naturedly, and that elicited a few chuckles, too. "This is No'burg; armpit capital of the Alliance. It's a sweatshop mining colony that's seventy-thousand strong. That's seventy-thousand reasons for things to go wrong." There were a few nodding heads. Deployed in and around the Cluster probably had these sailors doing Liberty Passes and R and R here. They'd seen it or heard about it. "Folks are use to seeing the lawmen like this." She flicked her hat to emphasize her point. "Sailors with guns will have a certain percentage of the population toeing the line, pushing to see where you stand. Standard Operating Procedure for the meantime is this; Onyx Armor with one lethal sidearm, one non-lethal firearm, and one non-lethal deterrent of your choice. Sick-stick, zap-tap, limb-breaker... be my guest." The room was sober and quiet, now. "Patrols and calls will be in pairs, no man alone. This goes double for the ladies," Collins eyed the four women in front of her which didn't include Master Chief Valentino, "who will not be paired in double-female teams. Miner population is like ninety-nine percent male, and most of these fellows haven't seen a piece of ass that wasn't a whore's in quite some time. Don't believe me? Deputy Jessica Leveque was _gang-raped_ by over a hundred men when she responded to a call solo in No'burg. _Not... happening... again._ Understood?"

" _Aye aye, Marse!_ " That came out of every voice, loud and clear.

"Remember, as filthy and obnoxious as these gentlemen can be," Collins continued, "they are human beings, they have rights, and it is our duty to serve and protect. Now I understand that you MP's are probably a little less nice when it comes to apprehension and searching a suspect." There were a few chuckles at that. "I'll look the other way for the first week, as I understand that you were trained that way. That does not give us the excuse to commit acts of brutality or violence without warrant. Normal Escalation of Force for non-military cops is always one step higher than a perpetrator. He raises his fist? Hit 'em with a sick-stick. He throws something? Shoot him with a non-lethal. If it looks like it can send you to a clinic? You better put his ass in the clinic. Understood?"

 _"Aye Aye, Marse!"_ There were several looks of surprise with that, but in a good way. Sam wasn't about to let these boys and girls get hurt just because some pissed-off miner wanted to test out the fresh meat. Marshals weren't known for being forgiving, after all; a policy she was going to be all for.

"Transition time is going to be the worst, I can assure you." The Marshal told her MP Deputies, seeing some nod their heads. "Make the judgment calls you need to make, and I'll deal with the consequences; that's my job. Your job is to make sure these earthbreakers aren't killing each other or trying to raze this shithole to the ground... which would actually be an improvement, but Therum's hot as hell as is." That got the requisite chuckles out. "Remember, above all? You are Officers of the Law, and I expect you conduct yourself as such. Stay safe, protect and serve, and watch each others' backs." That last bit probably wasn't going to be an issue, considering that they were MP's and did so anyhow, but it never hurt to show that she cared. "I'm proud of you sailors. I'm going ask a hell of a lot out of you, and then I'm going to ask for a hell of a lot more before this shitstorm sorts itself out. But a few weeks or a few months from now, when this is all said and done? You're going to have a hell of a lot of stories to pass on to you spaceboys and girls out in the black, telling lies and whatnot. But you would have made a difference. Not just for me, and not just for yourself. Not just for the people of No'burg, and not just for Therum. The Alliance. Mankind." Heads were nodding, and smiles were plastered a parsec wide.

"Now let's get to work."

Sam let out a deep breath as she moved towards her new office, feeling a little bit of a thief now that she was working at her former boss's office. Unfortunately, she couldn't change it since it had been set up with connectivity and li-fi capabilities for the Marshal's use. She placed herself in the chair that sat behind the steel desk, placing her hat on the available hatrack, the Western hanging heavy with the small Marshal's pin pressed into its tower front and center. Collins found herself just sitting in the chair, looking around in the office. Before, she had worked on getting Weather's terminal on and running, afraid that it would be password protected. Thankfully, no such biometric or encrypted programming was installed or activated, and Sam was grateful for the oversight. She had full access to the terminal, its capabilities, and its files. With it, she discovered that she could actually look up _all_ the files dealing with the Marshal's Office, having full access to the Office's Q-Cloud Drive. Sam hadn't realized that there was a good deal going on that she had no idea pertained to the Marshal's Office, such as trade traffic, tariffs, payment of court fees, acting as bailiff, and a whole host of other duties. How the hell Weathers had ran the office with just eleven Deputies was beyond her. She had twenty-four and she was trying to figure out how to make it work! It seemed odd that there were fifteen desks and terminals, with four vacancies, but Collins quickly found out the reason why.

Since the founding of Nova Yekaterinburg and the installment of the Marshal's Office in 2166, there had been nineteen Deputies killed in the line of duty.

Sam had to admit to herself that she knew very little of the colonial town of No'burg. Weathers, despite being a treasonous asshole and a betrayer, had put it to her in simple terms that she was not to go out into the town without an escort. Deputy Chad Gaultier had been her normal battle buddy whenever she needed to make a supply run to the Market Square, or if she was just getting cabin fever from the long hours at work and going straight to her tiny domicile at the rear of the Marshal's compound, where thirty three-by-three Container Housing Units, called CHU's, were stacked three meters high and ten long at the side of the compound. Thankfully, they were considered single-person accommodations that included a bed, a refrigerator unit, an entertainment package, and an air conditioner, along with some small furniture. Damn, she was going to have to collect the effects of the Deputies and put them into storage somewhere for the time being to open up the rooms for the sailors. Well, she had low-ranking Seamen who could do that. She'd give that task to Chief Mason or Chief Val and let them make the necessary decisions. That's what they were there for; experience, advice, and delegation of authority.

She sat at the terminal, reviewing some of the things she would need to do to keep the office running for day-to-day operations. She hadn't had the time to even initiate her investigate against Marshal Weathers and the Deputies when she was still studying notes, messages, and logs an hour later pertaining to how to do her new job. It gave her an idea, but reading about it and doing it were two totally separate things. She was going to make mistakes and hiccups, that was a given. But the more she knew, the fewer she would make and the better off she would be.

A thought occurred to her, and after a few moments spent digging through her Omnitool, she found what she was looking for with a small smile. Inputting the address on the EN-Mail Message field she had just opened, she began composing a letter.

 _Dear Nihlus,_

 _I'm on Therum now, a full-fledged Marshal. Went and arrested my boss and my co-workers, having them cool their heels in the Pit while I scour the servers and Cloud for evidence and information. I don't think all of them were in on it, but when I read the charges out loud, faces were pretty telling. Office was rife with corruption and collusion, sadly. I got me my own team of Systems Alliance Military Police to do the dirty jobs and grunt work that Deputies do as I begin this investigation and see how deep and wide it went with my former boss and what else he knew. I'm guessing that there might have been more than one vessel involved, and if I can determine if that is true or not?_

 _Might be a busy week for some of you and your friends shooting and looting, as the Marines are wont to say._

 _No'burg is No'burg; don't know if you've ever visited, but its a mining town ran by a greedy corporation. With seventy thousand dirty roughnecks all pissed-off and sweaty, I've got my work cut out for me. Those extra Officers are going to come in handy when the yokels figured out I just purged the Marshal's Office. Sadly, humanity just loves to toe the line and see just how far they can get without getting their teeth knocked in or a visit to a clinic. Remember that when you're out there in the black doing what you do and some bastard feels like being a little belligerent. There's a Battle Group up in one of the LaGrange Points holding station for a little extra muscle in case it's needed, so at least the good ol' SA Military is playing ball with me. If I need more troops? I got them. Brought the MP's because they are at least cops (somewhat) instead of some trigger-happy Marine. My duty is to protect and serve, not run a concentration camp._

 _Looking at these files, seeing what needs to be done to run this office on a day-to-day basis... God, it hit me. I'm a Marshal, now! That can take anywhere from ten to fifteen years of service to do, but now I'm the equivalent of... well, you. I'm the Law of not only an entire planet, but technically of all of the Artemis Tau Cluster! Thankfully, pretty much all the colonies are on Therum save for some backwater fueling station out in Archanes (the local Gas Giant) and some crummy outpost on Edolus in the Sparta System. I woke up this morning owning a ballistic bodysuit and a few weapons, and I'll be going to bed in charge of six solar systems! Heady stuff. I won't lie, I'm well over my head on this. At least I got a couple of good Navy Non-Coms here backing my plays. Both are smart and tough, and they understand what I'm doing here. Got enough plates spinning as is. Been at this job for less than a Terran month, and I've taken the high board off the deep end._

 _Still, despite it all, I'm looking forward to it. After I nail some asses to the wall with this investigation and keep innocent people from suffering from an overabundance of kneejerk reactions throughout the galaxy with what happened on Revan, perhaps the Home Office will send someone with a mite more experience under their belt. I'm not under any impression that I'll be keeping this job, but it won't hurt to do the best I can while I have it. I'm sure there's been more than a few Turians in Palavenian history that have found themselves in a similar situation and made do. Temporary or not, I'm the Marshal, and people are counting on me. I'm not about to let them down._

 _As for me? I'm good, considering. My stomach is better after the Docs on the_ Marco Polo _gave me surgery and removed all the shot and shrapnel out of my guts. Lost a little bit of my intestines, but nothing significant or worrisome. Unfortunately, my abs look like a barroom dartboard now, but the Docs said most will fade and hardly be noticeable in a year. I want to thank you guys for taking care of me after that, since I was unconscious when it happened. You kept me alive and got me the help I needed. I won't lie; I didn't know you knew anything about human anatomy or trauma care. Regardless, thank you. I owe the three of you my life, and I'm grateful. Captain Hackett told me that you arrested Doctor Saleon as oppose to putting a bullet in his head. Thank you. Lord only knows how big that House of Horrors really was, or how far spread the organization went. Make that fucker sing long and loud for me, would you? I know I asked you to get the Big Cheese back on that ship, and I'm grateful that you were able to, despite all that had happened. I can't imagine how tough that might have been for all of you after what happened to me, but I'm glad you did. If that bastard starts pointing fingers and sells out his scumbag friends? It's worth it. So I'm up and walking with only a twinge or two if I bend over or flex my abs, got a huge promotion, and now have the Colonial Governor and the Eldfell-Ashland shark eating out of my hand. The Security Chief (complete douchbag) wasn't pleased to see me, and Master Chief Valentino thinks he might have known or been on it. Another stake to set up for the witch hunt, I fear. I'm almost afraid to think how many people might have been involved, but thankfully everyone in Administration and EA just thinks I'm steamrolling the Marshal's Office. They have no idea that_ everyone's _getting their laundry aired out. I find out someone was involved with Revan, knowing what it truly was? I'm prosecuting them to the full extent of the law and recommending them for the Mires in Venus._

 _Give Tela and Jondum my best, and tell that Salarian to quit trolling people. Oh, and can I get a copy of that pic? Might as well plaque that sucker in my new office and watch the jaws drop!_

 _Your friend,_

 _Sam._

 _P.S. "The longer you steep yourself in failure, the harder it becomes to achieve success." - Tony Blauer_

Sam sat back on her chair as she sent the EN-mail, a small smile on her lips. It felt... good... to send the message out. What she had admitted to Centurion Nihlus Kryik on Revan about not having any friends... was sadly true. All the orphans that she had grown up with hadn't really been family to her, and most she tolerated at best. When she left the state-ran orphanage at sixteen to go to the University of New Beijing on Shanxi, she had done so without glancing back. College had been a bit of a trial for her as well. The academic parts came easily to her, and she excelled in her classes, making the Dean's List in every semester because of her grades. Unfortunately, she was at least two years younger than everyone else her Freshman year, if not even more so, and it didn't help with her... condition. While she did do well in College and graduated with Honors, she hadn't really associated with anyone in her classes, and her roommate had been a trying young woman more wont to party, sleep, having have a bunch of boys over. Sam had been more content to lock herself in her closet and read a book or work on her studies on her portable terminal or her cheap Omnitool. She had graduated with a Bachelor's in Criminal Justice in just three years, graduating ahead like she had with Gymnasium, and finding herself at a lull; she had a degree that would let her be the profession of her choice, but she was too young.

Now she was a full-fledged Marshal.

Telling Nihlus... it felt good. Sam had issues getting people at times, and sometimes she didn't understand their reactions to certain things. It didn't hurt that the periods and spells that she did have, people tended to think that something was _really_ wrong with her, as oppose to just an issue that she had spent most of her life learning how to cope and deal with so that she could be a providing member of society. But with the Turian Blackwatch member, something had just... made sense. Perhaps it was because he wasn't human, an oddity for her strange mind to place against all she had ever known and coming up blank. He looked different, sounded different, acted different, even _smelled_ different, and yet all of that intrigued her instead of making her shy or fearful. Sam knew that Turians were dangerous, but Nihlus was... well, he was _like_ a person to her, albeit a very _different_ -looking person. Something clicked in her, and within moments of meeting him on that toxic soup world, she didn't have one issue with working at his side, or trusting him. That was more than what she could say for a vast majority of humanity when it came with interacting with them.

Damn, she'd have to let the Master Chief know about her... peculiarities. That was going to have to wait for after the EN-mail message she was going to have to compose to the Director of Marshal Services back on Arcturus.

She wasn't looking forward to that one, that was for sure.

* * *

A/N: Yes, okay, I know what you're thinking. A 20 year old Marshal? Unlikely... but strange times do call for strange circumstances. The youngest First Sergeant in the Army was 19 (Richard Meadows, Korean War). I believe the youngest General was 25 (George Armstrong Custer, albeit a brevet rank, Civil War). Mark Zuckerberg was a millionaire by 20 (actually, he was a multi-millionaire) and is like the 5th richest person in the world at like.. 31?

The Tony Blauer quote is a real one, as Tony Blauer is a real-life person. He is a psychologist and a self-defense instructor that works with law enforcement agencies to help maximizing not only their potential, but their mental fortitude as well.

Sam has a condition? Stay tuned.


	14. Therum, IV

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 10 May 2175**

Author's Note: You're going to learn of Sam's condition. For those with friends and loved ones of ASD, this is meant to be positive and a reflection for all who make it work. For those who have loved ones that are the 1 out of 88 or so that are born with ASD and face the odds with your heads held high, you have my applause and support. There's a good word for what you do; Heroism.

On with the story...

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Marshal?" Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino walked into the Marshal's Office to see Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Collins sitting at her desk, hard at work on her terminal as she typed with one hand and wrote with a stylus on an AppleCorps dPad with the other. That was... wow. She could type and write at the same time? That was a talent, to be sure!

"Come in. There's coffee in the Keurig if you want some." Collins offered as she continued to type and write, her blue eyes barely touching on Stacy as she continued to work, her fingers working the Haptic keyboard at a speed that was pretty impressive single-handed. Val decided to help herself as she went to a small bookcase in which a Keurig 7.0 sat on top, with a line of single-brew cups in a line. That had the Master Chief look at them for a moment. There was an obvious K-Cup holder tree next to the Keurig, a thirty-pack that spun on a Lazy Susan to rotate about for a person to look at the selected choices. Not one of the K-Cups were in the tree. Instead, they were set on the surface of the top shelf of the bookcase, all in a row, one touching the next. It was actually in a straight line. That was... odd. She picked up one of the K-Cups and put it in the dispenser, closing the lid as the system automatically purified and added the water to brew the coffee. It was getting to be near evening time for Therum, and with a twenty-eight plus hour day, caffeinated drinks were probably on the top of the supply lists on everyone's grocery list. While the Keurig brewed the coffee into the Styrofoam cup set in the dispenser, Stacy tried to fix the line of K-Cups she had disoriented by picking one from near the middle. Putting them back was... harder than expected, and she couldn't actually get them back into the straight line that they had been. One or two were still a little off-course. The coffee was ready less than a minute later, and Val put some creamer and liquid sugar from the dispensers attached to the Keurig brewing machine before finding a chair to sit in in front of the Marshal's desk. It had been a long day, and sitting down and enjoying a cup of coffee was a nice break.

"Making progress with the investigation?" Val asked the Marshal, seeing the young woman hard at work, still typing with her left hand while writing with her right. It was almost as if she hadn't spoken, and the Master Chief let it go for the moment, figuring that the young woman was probably at an important part and didn't want to miss any details or observations in case they didn't come to mind later. After years in the Systems Alliance Navy babysitting clueless Ensigns who generally looked down upon Enlisted Members and Non-Commissioned Officers while tripping over their own feet, it was refreshing to see someone who took their job both seriously and competently. Stacy just sat in the chair and enjoyed her coffee, making do with the respite with the time she got to. There wasn't exactly any easy days on the schedule, after all, not with all that they had to do.

"Sorry." Marshal Collins finally said after another minute or two of typing and writing, powering down the terminal and saving whatever work she was doing on the dPad. "I get distracted easily when I'm focused on something." Val brushed it aside, thinking nothing of it. Hell, she hated being interrupted, herself. "It's... actually something I wanted to talk to you about, Master Chief..."

"Stacy." Val interrupted politely. "Out there, it's Master Chief. In here, call me Stacy. Or Val."

"Stacy it is." That had the young woman smile slightly, her blue eyes dancing, as if they couldn't stay still. "Sam." The Master-at-Arms nodded her head, a little surprised at the rather masculine nickname that the young woman had. Most Samantha's she had ever known preferred their full names, never Sam or Sammy, the usual nicknames for 'Samuel'. "I need to tell you something important, something... personal." The Marshal sat back in her chair, her eyes still moving, never still. "The Marshal Services might know, since it's in my medical records, but it was never brought up during my many interviews or in the Academy before I was assigned to Therum. I don't think Marshal Weathers knew, and I certainly didn't mention it to him or any of the Deputies. They certainly didn't mention it to me."

"O...kay." This didn't sound good. Val tried coming up with what kind of humdinger Sam was going to lay on her. "Bad?"

"Difficult at times." Collins closed her eyes and took a deep breath while leaning forward, placing her forearms on her desk while interlacing her fingers together. When she opened her eyes to look at Stacy, they were no longer dancing about. Instead, they were focused on her. Almost intensely. "What I'm about to tell you, I need you to keep in your confidence. It doesn't really affect my job performance, but there are... triggers. If it happens, I need you to roll with it and continue on before I can regain my focus and control, usually a minute or so later. Most wouldn't even think of it even if they saw it save that I'll look... very anxious, possibly panicky. I've dealt with it for years and have learned how to cope and function with it, but it's a battle that I don't always win."

"Okay." Well, that didn't sound that bad. Hell, the girl cleared out a slavers' den, so it obviously didn't affect her combat abilities. She had been hired and sworn in as an Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy, so it obviously didn't affect her work abilities, either. Chances were, she had a degree from a University or College as well, since that was usually what it took for one to be a police officer of any kind outside the military or private sector.

"Stacy, I have ASD. Autism Spectrum Disorder." Marshal Samantha Collins told her right to her face, looking at her straight in the eye. That... damn.

"That explains the cups." Stacy murmured to herself, looking over to the K-Cups that had been in a row. She knew _of_ Autism, though she had never personally met anyone with it. She wracked her brain for anything that she could remember about it. It was a neurodevelopmental disorder that usually impaired social interaction, verbal and non-verbal communication, as well as restricted and/or repetitive behavior. There were some more obvious signs of it, such as ordering things in straight lines, difficulty with speech or non-verbal communications... shit, Collins' eyes had jittered back and forth just a moment ago. It was almost like she _couldn't_ look Stacy in the eye, except that those who avoided eye contact usually looked slightly downward, their eyes steady. Hers had been going back and forth from left to right, like there were two interesting things beside her head and couldn't decide which was the more interesting. Comparison Model Theory, the Master Chief remembered from her Psychology classes she took for her Bachelor's Degree so she could gain rank faster by having a four-year degree in an accredited institution (on-line classes for the University of Arcturus). Well, it seemed that she was going to have to dust off her Psychology Degree that had built up about five years worth of dust and disuse. "You must be high-functioning if you're able to live independent and interact. Classes and tutoring?"

"Yes." The young woman looked a little surprised, and a little relieved as well. "Most of my life I've been treated an outcast or some fragile object when someone learns I'm Autistic. You... know anyone?"

"Psych Degree, UArc." Valentino replied, not surprised that Sam would ask if Stacy knew anyone that was Autistic. Really, it was a safe question to ask if she had any _family_ that was Autistic without being so blatant about it. "Actually thought about going into AbPsych a couple years back, but Navy only pays out for Bachelors for Non-Coms. And College is expensive, even if it is on-line on a Navy boat."

"I had two scholarships, so I got a free ride." Sam smiled, though there was no humor in it. "I am diagnosed as a High-functioning Autistic Savant with progressive social abilities and high-level trends in hypercalculia." Stacy frowned at that, getting only half of it. She knew 'high-functioning' meant self-care and self-reliance; the ability for one to take care of ones' self without assistance or constant reminder. Autistic Savant meant... shit, she was one of the few lucky ones that actually had something _positive_ come from her diagnosis. She wasn't really sure what progressive social abilities meant, except that it sounded like the more severe symptoms of Autism were probably very limited on Sam's part; progressive meant improvement, and social abilities meant interaction. Making... friends? Val knew that some of the general signs of young children with Autism were the lack of normal social skills and trouble with verbal and non-verbal communications. Hypercalculia? That was Latin for... _hyper_ meant great or fast, _calculia_... sounded like calculator.

"Math?"

"Impressed. Yes." Collins nodded her head once, her hands still clasped together in front of her. "I'll be honest, you're... handling this very well. Most start bullying me or teasing me by now. And you're not bombarding me with annoying questions."

"I don't know a lot about Autism, but I think I got the gist of it to know what it implies." The Master-at-Arms replied softly, not really pretending to understand. She didn't have an Autistic family member, nor was she Autistic herself. She never would understand. "You've obviously overcome a great deal of whatever it is that you've had to face to be here now, so I trust you know what you're doing. Whatever you do need help with, just ask. I'm... actually pretty damn impressed." That was putting it mildly. Even after two hundred plus years after discovering the disorder, there was still no real understanding of what truly caused Autism save that it was likely genetic or environmental. No cure had ever been found, though progressive studies had been made to improve the lot of those with mild Autism, creating programs that would aid them into becoming productive members of society. Obviously, Sam Collins was one of those, or at least had been a success through such a program that she was able to make do. "Parents must be pretty proud of you."

"I'm a Shanxi orphan. I don't know if they ever knew or not." The Marshal replied, her voice even and without reflection. That had Stacy go quiet for a moment.

"Shit. Sorry."

"It's okay. You didn't know." A Shanxi orphan? Stacy Valentino was not only old enough to remember the First Contact War, she had served in it, too. That meant that Samantha Collins had probably been born on the colony, and had lost both her parents during the Invasion and Occupation. She had said so herself that she wasn't even twenty yet, so... two years old during the FCW? Lost both her parents? _Fuck._ No doubt she had been a part of several 'programs' that helped the colonists of Shanxi after the FCW, the aftermath of the war with the Turians having wrecked a good deal of the colony.

The Shanxi Orphan Foundation had been one of those big deals back in the late '50's that got people sympathetic and donating money to the thousands of children who had lost both of their parents and no next-of-kin could be located. From what Val remembered, there had been three parts to the Foundation; the normal orphans, the ones who had been disabled or crippled due to the FCW, and those who already had disabilities like Sam. It had been a big news item in the aftermath of First Contact and all that was going on during those times. Stacy hadn't thought about that in years, and couldn't recall ever having met a Shanxi orphan. Shanxi vet? Yeah, she'd met a couple thousand of those over the years, and another couple thousand that _claimed_ to have been there (fucking bastards), but there were colonists and settlers on the planet when it had been attacked, people who had lived through the _whole_ ordeal as oppose to flash-deployed like Val and tens of thousands of others that had come to the colony's rescue during that time. There were quite a few of those ones running around (real and fake survivors) that one could see standing in line for government dispensation claims or in spaceports looking for handouts. But Sam represented something different; one of the last children who had suffered that terrible ordeal. The last of her generation, the last of her kind. Her age meant that almost all of them were legal adults now, considering the FCW was eighteen years ago.

Hell, she'd make a hell of a role model, disability and all. Stacy reminded herself not to think of it as a 'disability'; no doubt Sam didn't see it that way.

"Well, kid," Val replied slowly, nodding her head, "I guess no one's going to accuse you of thinking small. Plenty on that bandwagon full of whiners and criers about what their owed and how tough it was for them. Seen many a Shanxi vet who found themselves unable to cope and find their way back to proper society, milking the system for all they were worth. Not exactly a favorite topic of mine."

"You're a Shanxi vet?" Collins cocked her head at her, looking at her with amazement. "I didn't know. Thank you for what you did for us. From all that I've been told and what I've read, a good many of us probably wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for Operation Repensium."

"Yeah, well, I was a seventeen year old kid who lied about her age so I could join to go shoot at some aliens. Not my brightest moment." The Master Chief replied, making the Marshal smile wanly. "Still, I lived with all limbs attached. That's a good deal better than most." Val could still remember those harrowing three weeks when Operation Repensium had been launched, a million Marines and sailors hot-dropped onto Shanxi to fight what were called Raptors at the time, armed with coppertossers and wearing ballistic vests. Stacy had exactly six weeks of Boot Camp and two weeks of Light Jump School under her belt when she had a vest and a Heckler + Koch G6C Assault Rifle slapped into her hands, sent to the occupied colony to go kill the invaders. She recalled the re-entry drop in pop-pods carrying squads of men rocketing through the atmo under Ack-Ack flak and bursts of heavy weapons fire, the twenty-five man drop pod rattling so hard that seventeen-year old Seaman Apprentice Stacy Valentino thought her teeth were going to fall out of her head. Most had lost their lunch in the drop, the vomit hitting the ceiling of the drop-pod as they pushed nine g's during re-entry while under fire, the Outlaw's _Ghost Riders In The Sky_ blasting out of the speakers to pump up the Marines and sailors. "Next time they need some ODST's to burn in, give me a call so I can disconnect my Omnitool and bury myself on the dark side of the Moon." That had Sam snort and smile, shaking her head at the absurdity.

It had been a fucking slaughter, and not in humanity's favor, either.

"Okay, mopey time's over." The Master Chief declared, draining the last of her coffee in one fell swoop, the hot liquid gone in a flash. "Got an office to run, a colony to manage, and an investigation to complete. Feel like that Hindu elephant god thing with the hundred or so arms trying to juggle a million things." That had Collins snort with some amusement. "Got the duty rosters up for the office, patrols, calls, and who's babysitting the scumbags. We getting any leads on who was responsible and who knew what?"

"Yes." The Marshal replied, her tone glum. "It looks like most of them were involved in someway with what was going on in Revan, though Weathers did well to contain who knew what, how much, and what bribes were being accepted. Very meticulous." That had Val's ire up; there was nothing worse than a dirty cop. "It was on his personal server, which wasn't connected to the Cloud, so access was only through his terminal here." Sam patted the desk, where the terminal projector was located. "It's a duel-linked system in which files can't be moved from one to another, and there's no data access port in the Stand-Alone Complex he was maintaining pertaining to Revan. Essentially, he was running two books, like a Mafia. Much for the same reason, too."

"Bastard." Stacy commented, her tone ugly. "I guess that was why you were hand-writing notes. Can't we pull the hard drive and download it somewhere?"

"We could, but at the risk of tripping a failsafe or some dead man's switch that could erase the whole thing." The Marshal shrugged, pointing out something that the Master Chief hadn't considered. She had ran investigations before, but nothing close to this level. She could gather and collect evidence to a degree that would satisfy the courts, but the overall picture? That was usually left for the Judge Advocate General's Office and the Systems Alliance Provost Marshal's Office. Collins was essentially a detective, a position that one obtained with several years experience, and with a mentor to boot. Sam was going to have to do it single-handedly with little in the way of experience and no one above her to turn to when in need of advice or observations. Yeah, that hundred-armed Hindu God Stacy was thinking about earlier had it easy compared to Marshal Sam Collins. "Still, I'm compiling the notes and evidence. It's... pretty ugly, but most of it will be held up in court with no issues. Ministry of Justice is going to have a field day with the evidence, and I don't doubt that the Office of Naval Intelligence is going to _love_ the intel I'm collecting. This went deep and wide, Stacy. It's... scary."

"How bad?"

"By the looks of it," the Marshal sighed, closing her eyes, probably trying to reign herself, "this group was a Batarian-ran consortium that involved a good deal of the slavery trade throughout at least six clusters, and had ports in another ten." The Master-at-Arms' eyes went wide at that. "Several vessels were involved with the 'relocation of products' to various havens, safehouses, and interment camps. Weathers was polite enough to have put down the locations of at least a dozen in neighboring clusters in Alliance Space, and a couple in the Traverse. He... wasn't just some dirty cop giving them a free pass into the Artemis Tau Cluster, I'm afraid. It looks as if he was a part of the operations concerning the group, handing them Alliance patrol rosters for when the fleets would be in-system or in-cluster throughout the Verge."

"That's... treason." Val pointed out. Holy fuck, that was _high_ treason!

"Indeed." Sam nodded slowly, her blue eyes dancing once more. "No wonder he wanted to sell me off. If I had contacted the Alliance Military on the possibility of smugglers in the Thermopile System, like I thought they might have been originally, it would have put a pretty big wrinkle in the operation, not to mention jeopardizing Weather's position in the consortium. According to his file, this consortium involves thousands of members, spans at least a few fronts to funnel the funds and earnings, hires private security firms for security and protection, and uses at least two space stations as ports to lay low. I send this information to the Ministry of Defense, and there's going to be a lot of hell to pay."

"You are sending it to the Ministry of Defense, right?" Stacy asked, realizing just how big something like this could go. She was reminded of what Sam feared; extraterrestrial retaliation. It wasn't too far off the mark.

"Yes... among others."

"Wait. _Others?_ " The Master Chief didn't like the sound of that at all. _Others_ implied aliens.

"Stacy, did you think I cleared the House of Horrors all on my lonesome?" The Marshal asked, and Val felt her mouth open, but no words coming out. She didn't know the details, and she hadn't thought about it yet. "You saw the Marshal and all the Deputies assigned to Therum, where I myself was assigned. I told you I stumbled upon this slaver operation thinking they were smugglers. So how do you think I was able to best fifty-plus opponents?"

Well, fuck.

"You had help." The Master-at-Arms pulled back her judgment, remembering some of the facts. Collins' Marshal had sold her out and sent her solo. So she must have _ran_ into someone who was doing their own investigation, or something of the like. Someone who was with her every step of the way. Someone who saw everything, and would report back to _their_ figures of authority. So Sam really didn't have a choice in the matter, and it was probably for the best, despite Val's personal feelings on the matter. "Who was it, at least? C-SEC? Citadel patrol?"

"No." The eyes were focused, now. "A Blackwatch Commando. A Strike Huntress. An STG Operative. And one in-way-over-her-head Deputy."

"Holy shit." Yeah, there wasn't any other way to put it. In terms of military prowess... one couldn't really ask for better. While she'd personally want a platoon of N's at her side, such an eclectic group of elite warriors would be hard to turn down in such a situation. She couldn't blame Collins for cooperating. "That must have been entertaining."

"'Entertaining' wouldn't be the word I'd use, but yes." Sam started to smile. "Almost got turned into a Tuchankan Happy Meal at one point. That I could have done without." Stacy winced at that. Krogan were damn tanks on legs, able to absorb a great deal of abuse before going down. With thick, dense skin, regenerative properties to dull the pain of injuries, adrenal properties that would make them stronger and faster, and portions of their body that were practically bulletproof, taking down a Krogan was generally done with explosives and luck. Being stuck in the room with one usually got anyone else splattered. "Go for the roof palate of the mouth if you find yourself under attack by one. Found a soft spot there."

"You're... shitting me." A healthy pause. "You're _not_ shitting me." Sam just smiled as she opened up her Omnitool and selected something from her menu, opening up a projected holographic screen, and then maximized the projection before flipping it around for Val to see. What Stacy saw had her jaw drop. It was most definitely a picture of Sam Collins, dressed in Devlon Industries' Explorer Armor, hoisting what appeared to be a Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle planted in her right hip. She was standing next to the fallen body of a dead Krogan, her foot planted on its bony headcrest, leaning a little forward and giving off a triumphant smile. Somehow, she looked younger in the picture than she did now, even though it couldn't be more than a week old. Probably due to the things she saw on Revan. Stacy had to admit that the Krogan was an impressive specimen, with pockmarks decorating its brown-red headcrest from when it deflected rounds, its mouth gaping open and large tongue dangling out of its enormous maw. Stacy looked closer and saw that something was actually sticking out, and saw a brown pleather-wrapped hilt with a flat metal pommel sticking...

"Is that a fucking _Ka-Bar_ in its mouth?"

"Like I said, I found a soft spot." Collins replied, smirking. "I thought the damn thing was going to eat me."

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Just who the _fuck_ was this girl? Working with Special Forces Commandos from other species? Knifing a _Krogan_? Now a Marshal? It was nuts! It was almost too much to believe... except that she was working for said young woman. And she didn't think Sam was the type to bullshit her. "Pretty awesome pic, actually. You should show Royce so he can make the requisite Crocodile Dundee comment about knife sizes."

* * *

"Yer kiddin' me, right?"

"Royce, I saw the fucking _picture_." Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino replied to Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason as they did a short patrol of the Market Square as evening set on Therum, the end of the fourteen-hour workday coming as Knossos slowly sank over the horizon. The oppressive heat of the day had finally subsided, bringing it to a balmy twenty-four degrees as the two Navy Non-Coms walked a quick beat around the Market Square where Eldfell-Ashland employees were being escorted by Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps Guardsmen for their necessary purchases before the miners came back from their sweaty work and clogged the market with their dirty, foul-tempered presence. There were three other patrols going on at the moment through Nova Yekaterinburg, making their presence known. They were drawing a lot of looks from the EA employees, seeing two sailors in Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor and carrying Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms' 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifles in their hands, pulling patrols like the Marshal Deputies did. Scuttlebutt would soon be spreading about the colony as to why there were _sailors_ patrolling as oppose to Deputies, and hell would probably follow. Thankfully, Stacy had chosen Non-Coms with some years and deployments under their belts for the first few days, leaving the lower Enlisted in the Marshal's Office for the time being in case back-up was needed. "She knifed a Krogan to death."

"That's bloody impressive." Mason replied, sounding amused. No doubt the Australian would want to see the picture. Hell, they should probably print it out and frame it. That would get the locals something to think about. "Simmons? How's your favala lookin', mate?" Royce turned on the transmitter of his throat-microphone, bringing them back to their job.

 _"Like your standard Tier I shithole."_ Chief Petty Officer Daniel Paul Simmons replied, the Master-at-Arms of the SSV _Charger_ sounding a bit cranky. _"If you want a detailed report, you can patrol the Bloodsalt District and see it for yourself."_ Simmons had been paired with his lone Section Leader, Petty Officer Second Class Kyle Fontaine for his team of two. Val had taken a map of No'burg and split it into quarters, naming each portion to break down the patrols that they would easily be needing for the first week or so. The Bloodsalt District was the far end of the colony, the furthest away from the Colonial Administration Building and the Marshal's Building. A couple of her boys were going to be Quick Reaction Force with the contragravity speederbikes that the Marshal's Office had, Marshal Collins had cracked open the garage for such purposes. There were only four, but four NST MP's responding to a call or an incident would make an impression upon the normally-volatile populous.

"What? An' miss th' chancet' take a looksie at th' Eldfell-Ashland sweeties?" Mason replied, making Stacy smack his armored shoulder. There was a chuckle heard over the communicator.

 _"Harder next time, MC. I almost heard it."_ Simmons chuckle was dark and ugly. Man was in a bad mood for some reason. Perhaps putting him in the Bloodsalt wasn't the best choice, but reports indicated that the most amount of fights, muggings, theft, and assaults were generally around the Market Square after the dinner bell rang for the colony, at least until the action moved into the many saloons, cantinas, and brothels. Stacy traded a glance with Royce, the both of them staring a look. Chief Simmons was an eight-year sailor with more than a few deployments under his belt. Pulling a patrol in a shithole like No'burg shouldn't be much sweat to him. The Bloodsalt was actually one of the _nicer_ locations despite the name Val had given it.

"What about you, Shep?"

 _"If one more roughneck makes a comment about my ass, I'm going to snap his legs with my Crippler."_ Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard growled hard enough to make Royce shake his head. Chief Shepard and her battle-buddy, Petty Officer Second Class James Olsen, were the respective Section Leaders of the SSV _Canberra_ , the Non-Coms that Val expected to run, train, and care for the platoon while she fulfilled her duties as Master-at-Arms, going to meetings, reviewing policy, and answering about a thousand EN-mails a day. Command position was desirable... until one realized you ended up a paperwork and Command Staff gopher. Captain Lewellyn was a good CO, but Navy was Navy, after all. _"Remind me again why we decided to name this part of town 'Whitechapel'? I'm half-expecting for some doctor with a scalpel to confuse me with a whore."_

"No one's gonna confuse ya' wit' a jimmy's girl, Blue." Mason reassured the redhead who was in the southern portion of No'burg. "You're too pretty, for one."

 _"Gee. Thanks."_

 _"Could be worse, Chief. The Maul's not much better."_ That came from Petty Officer Third Class Kevin Todd Michaelson, one of Stacy's Squad Leaders. He and Petty Officer Third Class Valerie Karina Laguna were in the western section of town, which on a map looked like someone had decided that planning was overrated and created a portion of the city that was an even worse labyrinth than the Bloodsalt and Whitechapel. _"Thankfully, all the guys are hitting on_ me _now since Vallie here hit a couple of smart-asses with her sick-stick. Evidently, I've got a cute ass, too."_ Michaelson's tone was actually rather upbeat despite having one of the harder sections to patrol. Kevin had a bit of a thing for Valerie, so Stacy knew that he would look out for her while they were in the Maul, obviously the last portion of No'burg to be developed for the gold rush with the way it was slapdashed together. At the least they had the No'burg Spaceport to head to if things got a little dicey with its group of EASC Guardsmen protecting the port. With something like twenty men covering the walls and another six at the gate, the two Squad Leaders at least had something resembling back-up, even if it was private security goons. Hopefully, the guards in question knew which end of the rifle the rounds came out of. _"Are we pulling hazard pay for this?"_

"Navy? Buckleys on that, mate." Royce replied, making Val shake her head. Yeah, there probably was no chance in hell of that happening. "Tell you what, blokes. We'll give this here Marse th' ol' chinwag and see if there somethin' inna books 'bout compensation for us honest dingos in her posse. She's a fair dinkum one, so she might find some rule t' bend."

 _"Master Chief? English, please?"_ Chief Shepard asked, making a few chuckles come from over the communicators. _"I could have sworn Australia spoke it, but all I heard was crocodile, crocodile, koala, jackrabbit."_

"That's right bloody cheeky o' ya, Blue." Mason grumbled as Val chuckled beside the Senior Chief, shaking her own head. She had known Royce for years, and sometimes she ended up scratching her head in confusion whenever his _strine_ got real bad. "Could make ya watch them vids again if ya keep up the whinge."

 _"God, no. I'd rather put my eyes out."_

"Okay, kids, that's enough abuse and torment." Stacy warned gently as she kept her eye on the moving crowds of the Market Square, the EA employees and their EASC bodyguards shuffling back to either the Colonial Administration Building or the Colonial Government Building, pretending not to be scurrying back as the local population went from 'office' to 'blue-collared' in the span in a few minutes. The Dinner Bell had rung at the mines, and now the populous was returning from the quarries and mines, hungry and exhausted. How the hell the Marshal's Office handle this shit before was beyond her; they had twice the people now, and that wasn't even half of what they needed. She briefly wondered if Weathers had something to do with it, keeping the amount of Deputies down to prevent someone from tripping onto what he was doing, like Sam had. Every person in the know was a potential threat or a cut in the profit margin, after all. She knew that something like nineteen Deputies had died serving this shithole, and Val wondered if they died performing their duties, or if there had been some... assistance in the matter. The former Marshal had been quick to kick Collins to the curb and betray her, after all. She wonder if the new Marshal suspected.

No, Sam had enough on her plate as it was. No need putting more on her.

"Okay, wallabes." Royce spoke to his communicator, his eyes on the crowd, talk-time over. "Move from yer patrols an' towards the district entrances. Let these bogans know we got eyes on their arses when they move back t' the habs."

 _"Man, how the fuck did Marse Collins do this shit?"_ Came Simmons' reply, his attitude still bleeding through the communicator. Stacy knew that answer, the young woman having painfully admitted to her that she had actually never done a patrol or answered a call thanks to her Marshal. Which was probably wise, brand-new Deputy out in the rough-and-tumble was just asking for something to go horribly wrong. But that meant she lacked any and all experience on how to pull a patrol, answer a call, or resolve a situation. Val assured her that she and her platoon were up to the task, having done something similar in a dozen locations ranging from military bases to hostile residences like No'burg. Still, Sam was young and hadn't enjoyed the bitter tang of having to make a call that would get someone in her command dead, good decision or not. Youth thought there was always a way out of things; a clever plan, a masterstroke move, the right amount of pressure in the right spot. Senior Non-Coms like Stacy and Royce knew better; in a knife fight or a ship battle, there was always going to be casualties and fatalities. That was just how the galaxy worked. _"I swear half these rednecks look ready to jump out of their shitty trailers and beat the shit out of something or anything."_

"Just show them you aren't to be fucked with, and they'll give you the space." The Master-at-Arms reminded the Chief Petty Officer, a veteran of many a shithole herself, visiting or beefing up the security whenever the Military needed to flex a muscle. Stomping colonists never felt good, but it was preferable to thousands of rioters and looters burning, raping, pillaging, and killing their way through a colony, potentially endangering everyone's lives. There had been an incident on Demeter about a decade back where a small demonstration had broken a portion of the protective dome placed over the colony, and had evacuated atmo. What had been a hundred or so 'demonstrators' had killed tens of thousands through suffocation and depressurization. Thankfully, Therum had enough oxygen and pressure that a Pro-Dome wasn't needed. "Remember, kids, that's why we're out here instead of the Enlisted, to show these podunks that we're tough _hombres_ and that we're in charge. Give it a few days, and they'll get the message. Well, _most_ will get the message. There's always a few who need a little stick-time to help their memories out."

 _"Can't wait to see this Lawgiver in play."_ That was Chief Olsen, Shepard's battle buddy. _"Baby's got punch enough to knock a man back on his ass, and it tickles you with electricity."_ The Master Chief had used a couple of Lawbringer's in her day, back when Nexus brought out the line of non-lethal munitions back in '69, built specifically for law-enforcement and military to respond to situations with effective non-lethal force. Actually, it wasn't a half-bad weapon in combat, either. It would lock up armor with a few hits, and as Jimmy Olsen said, had enough punch to put a man on his ass. The phasic properties of the weapon had been meant to create a local disruption in kinetic shields since the science behind it was that it ionized the air with static electricity emitted from pulse field disruptors. Send something of the opposite polarity, and it would shimmy right through a shield with little loss of velocity. The round wasn't designed to punch through flesh, simply just to punch it. It was a good weapon to have if one wasn't looking to massacring civilian populations when things got rough.

Stacy didn't doubt things would be getting rough. Probably tonight once the rumors started flying.

 _"MC, we're set at the southern perimeter of the square."_ Chief Shepard called out, and Val looked in the appropriate direction, though there was no sight of the 'gate' that separated the Market Square and Whitechapel, just a double-access container that was used as a tunnel to funnel the populous into the other districts and able to close and lock to limit said access. It was piss-poor management, but the Master-at-Arms didn't doubt that Eldfell-Ashland could care less with their reinforced four meter tall double-Texas barriers with soil and rubble poured in between the concrete to make a wall that was next to impossible to scale without a ladder and able to stop even a direct hit with a speeder. With that kind of protection around the Admin and Government Compounds, why would they care to build more defenses? It wasn't like EA wasn't bringing in the desperate and the stupid by the ferry-full with shiny contracts and lies. _"We're posted on top of the trailer gate watching the roughnecks pass under us."_

 _"As are we, Master Chief."_ Chief Michaelson replied a moment later. _"Locals are surly, and certainly don't seem to enjoy seeing us here."_

"Yeah, I got that." Val didn't have to look hard to see a few dozen workers eyeballing her and Royce hard, their faces sooty and menacing. Thankfully, Onyx Armor would cushion a blow with its polyurethane ceramic plates, though there were a few spots where it was merely hardened tempered ballistic cloth for mobility and flexibility. Still, between the Lawbringers, the deterrence batons, and the lethal Hadne-Keder M9 Kessler service-issued pistols that they had on their hips, almost all of the populous would merely keep their distance unless they smelled blood in the water. Most were merely content to visiting the cantinas for supper, while others were heading to the various saloons to go get their drink on. Not that Stacy was looking forward to having a bunch of drunk miners to deal with, but after a long day's work and a few beers in them, hopefully most of them would drunkenly stumble back to their respective domiciles with little fuss.

 _"Got a bit of a sitch here."_ That was Petty Officer Kyle Fontaine, his tone less-than-neutral. _"Some dink threw a bottle at us, and Chief Simmons put a Lawbringer round into the mook, and knocked his ass out good. Now we're looking at a nice-sized mob of about a hundred pissed-off miners who are acting rather belligerent, tossing rocks and debris at us. Looking ugly, MC."_

"Understood." The Master-at-Arms sighed as she knew what was going to happen next. Shit, couldn't it have waited a day or two? She was really looking forward towards that bed. "Marshal? This is Master Chief Valentino. Request QRF at this time in the Bloodsalt, at Chief Simmons' and Fontaine's position."

 _"Understood, Master Chief."_ Came back Marshal Collins' voice, sounding... resigned. _"Spinning them up. ETA five to seven mikes."_

* * *

Contragravity speederbikes weren't meant to 'fly' through twisted corridors of metal, but that was exactly what Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins was doing.

The Harley-Davidson Motor Company, Inc. Iron 883 Contragravity Cruiser was set at maximum gain to increase altitude over the labyrinthine boulevards and alleyways of the favalas as the Marshal gunned the loud speeder over the heads of the blue-collared employees of Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation, the contract workers ducking and covering their faces and heads as the contragravity engines boosted the two hundred and seventy-two kilogram bike three meters off the Therum ground as she throttled the accelerator to push the cruiser at a speed of forty-eight kilometers an hour through the winding paths of the Bloodsalt. She occasionally glanced at her Omnitool's active screen, giving her a 'roadmap' of Nova Yekaterinburg as well as the current position of the Bloodsalt Patrol. She raced through the twists and turns with Able Seaman Jesus Hernandez holding onto her, muttering obscenities, curses, and prayers as he clutched at her armored waist.

" _Chica!_ We're grazing _both_ sides of the bike!" Hernandez shouted as short screeching noises came intermediately from either side of the bike as Collins flew through the haphazardly-aligned corridor with a bike that was barely big enough to fit in it at speeds that were not recommended. " _Madre de Dios!_ Wall!"

Collins cut the acceleration, hit the reverse thrusters while banking to the left, performing an air skid while making a hairpin turn. The bike tapped the container domicile at a speed enough to rattle teeth as Sam gunned the bike to keep it aloft and moving down the new alleyway that would lead them to the Bloodsalt's public square, unaffectionally called the Gutters. It had been four or so minutes since QRF had been called up, and all she could think of was that there were two of _her_ men staring at what could potentially be a riot. These sailors were here to help her, and she'd be damned if she wouldn't repay them back. The bike roared through the alleyway, a few scraps from metal-on-metal contact from the proximity of the housing units as she saw the exit coming rapidly. Sam punched the throttle on full and intended to make an entrance and a statement.

The Harley roared into the Gutters at three meters in height, racing at sixty-four kilometers an hour when she reached the fifteen by fifteen meter public square where it seemed hundreds of people had gathered. The appearance of the Harley roaring through the alleyway and into the Gutters just above the heads of the gathering people, the contragravity repulsors blowing everything light and loose about as miners instinctively ducked. Sam pulled the Harley into a donut, flashing the outer ring of the Gutters with her bike's repulsors, forcing everyone to back away and protect themselves from the compressed and charged neutron particles that were sent through the contragravity's thrusters to give it altitude and flight. Though the washout of the repulsors wasn't lethal, it was uncomfortably hot and forceful, and people in the Gutters sought to protect themselves from the washout as Collins did a quick donut circuit of the confined area.

"Prepare to deploy." She told Seaman Hernandez behind her as the man squawked as she angled the bike towards the center of the Gutters, reducing the contragravity repulsors so that she could land the speeder. The Iron 883 landed onto the packed dirt of the Bloodsalt with a jarring thud as Collins practically pushed Hernandez off the bike, the sailor raising his 2169 Lawbringer to his shoulder, his hands shaking as he pulled immediate security, his Assault Rifle covering a portion of the inhabitants that had gathered in the public square. There was a ring of people perhaps five meters away, packed tightly as people looked at her as she disembarked the Cruiser, wearing Onyx Armor and her hat on top of her head, her badge of office hooked to the Sam Browne belt that was strapped to her armor's waist, the Smith + Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver on her left hip, hanging heavy in her mag-lock Kylex holster as she eyeballed the populous with a pair of steady eyes, traversing from left to right in a steady speed, making she that everyone knew that they had her _full_ attention. Somewhere behind her was Chief Petty Officer Dan Simmons and Petty Officer Second Class Kyle Fontaine, on top of a Conex unit that had been modified for less-than-ideal living. She had the high ground, she had a man at her side, and she had made an entrance.

Now it was time to make a statement.

"Citizens of No'burg!" Sam pitched her voice to be loud, not shouting or yelling, but opening her throat to maximize volume without straining her voice. She knew everyone could hear her despite that the Harley was still idling beside her; it was an exit strategy and a weapon unto itself if needed, and she was damned if she was going to lose an advantage in front of hundreds. "I am the Marshal of Therum." People were looking at her with shock, and then to each other. Perhaps they had heard, perhaps not. There was no hiding it now. "Know what that means for you folks?" Sam slowly spun so that she could see everyone in the Gutters, seeing that they were all looking at her. She doubt they were even talking to each other. "That means I am the law here, that means I am here to _protect_ you." That had a few scoffs and snorts from the crowd. "Oh? Think that's funny, do you?" Collins aimed her eyes at a direction where she heard a set of disbelieving snorts. Silence ensued. "Don't want me here? Want me to pack my bags and leave?" There were some murmurs with that, a few encouraging her to do just that. One loud-mouth braggart in the back announced that she could _fuck off_. "Fair enough, folks. Because if I'm not the law here...

"...then it's _Martial Law_."

The opinions of what she could do with herself died quickly at those words.

"The Systems Alliance Charter states that a representative of the Ministry of Justice will be present at _all times_ to ensure that rights are respected and law upheld." The Marshal continued, her voice echoing off the metal walls of the surrounding trailer units. "If said representative cannot perform their duties or the situation warrants it, then the Systems Alliance Military comes in and enforces _martial law!_ " Those words had the desired effect; people were looking at each other in worried glances. "See him?" Sam pointed to Hernandez, who was looking a little nervous holding his Lawbringer to his shoulder, aiming it at the crowd. "That's a sailor. Take a good look at him." The crowd's attention shifted to the Seaman, and then back to her. "That's right. And he isn't the only one, is he?" She pointed to Chief Petty Officer Simmons' and Petty Officer Fontaine's position. "There." She looked up towards the top of the triple- and quadruple-stacked Conexs, and saw what she needed to see. "And... there." She pointed to another two Navy MP's who were stationed on top of the stack of housing units, their Lawbringers at the ready. "And over there." Two more were in a different position, on top of a double-stack, standing as oppose to being in the prone as the first set. "And... a couple more over there." The crowd shifted its gaze once more to look at another pair of sailors, armed and armored. "In the sky is a Battle Group holding position in Lagrange Point Two, ready to send more troops at the drop of a hat. One call, and a battalion of Marines with some hard-ass Captain will be here inside of fifteen minutes, ready to pacify." The people in the Gutters shifted uncomfortably. "You know what's stopping them?

"Me." Sam let that one sink in as she spun around slowly once more to look at the gathering crowd.

"As Marshal," Collins continued, "it is my duty to protect and serve, sworn to uphold the law and justice to _your_ benefit. You think it impossible? Blame yourselves, for you are the artists of your own fates. I won't succeed with all of you if you won't let me, if you continue to act like a mongrel horde instead of _human fucking beings_." Sam looked at the perpetrators, one and all. "So go ahead! Throw your bottles and rocks, hurl your abuse and insults. One day you will piss one of these sailors off, and he will act accordingly. One day you will hurt one of them, and the whole lot of them will react immediately. One day you will go too far, and guess what happens then?" More uncomfortable shuffling. "I can't succeed if you won't let me. I can't stop them if you egg them on. I can't protect you if you insist on bringing harm. It's that simple, really; me... or them.

"If you choose me, then you'd best vacate the area by the count of ten... nine... eight..."

Marshal Sam Collins was actually impressed with how quickly the Gutters was depopulated.

" _Santa mierda!_ " Able Seaman Jesus Hernandez swore as his Lawbringer lowered from its ready position as the public square was turned into a ghost town, the residence having vacated the area as swiftly as possible. " _Estas_ _pinche loca, Mariscal_." The Latino sailor shook his head as he looked at her with a mixture of fear and awe. "We was knee-deep in the shit and you..." Hernandez shuddered quickly, the adrenaline obviously wearing off. "You don't fuck around, Marse." She turned to look at Hernandez and looked at him for a long moment, assessing.

"No. No I do not." Sam sighed, feeling her own adrenaline simmering away. "Hop back on your buggies, Officers, and we'll head back to the Office. Hopefully, the message will get out."

That being said, Collins wasn't going to hold her breath.

* * *

A/N: Keurig and its related products is a trademarked product of the Keurig Green Mountain Company. Probably the greatest thing to hit Vermont since sunlight.

"...another couple thousand that _claimed_ to have been there..." - I've met more than a few people who have claimed to have served in the military, only to find out that they were Faketerans; fake veterans. Some just make boastful claims. I've actually met a couple that were fully in uniform to get discounts or ask for money 'for charity' (which, btw, is horribly illegal and the Military doesn't do). Haven't seen much of this in the past few years, but it use to be pretty rife.

Operation Repensium: Latin for revenge, Operation Repensium is my idea of what might have occurred during the Invasion and Occupation of Shanxi. Canon gives very little information about the FCW/Relay 314 Incident, though it suggests that it didn't last long (weeks). I think I will add to it as the story progresses, in which the Turians (Raptors) attacked Shanxi for the same reason canon uses (illegal access and activation of an unmapped Relay). While the 'initial' incident involving the destruction of the science/exploration vessel in question could be excused as proper under Citadel Law, the rest of the event would not be, especially after realization that Shanxi was a fully-populated world (colony or not, which the Turians were under the impression that Shanxi was a homeworld, not a colony). In my mind, the Turians were subjugating humanity for a client race, legal slavery, and waged a shadow war against humanity while keeping others in the dark. The FCW will have lasted approximately 6-7 months, in which Operation Repensium will be the equivalent of the Landing of Dunkirk. More will be added and expanded, as canon on this pivotal event was rather spotty at best.

The Hindu God that Stacy Valentino makes reference to is Lord Ganesh (or Ganesha), God of New Beginnings and Remover of Obstacles. Though he appears in a variety of poses (standing, dancing, fighting demons, offering benediction), and he is portrayed to having anywhere from two to sixteen arms (a common theme among the Hindu Gods), he is always portrayed as having the head of an elephant. Ganesha is _very_ revered among Hindus, usually set just underneath Krishna, Vashtu, and Shiva (the 'big' three). Hindus revere elephants as holy creatures, either because of Ganesh, or perhaps he was made as such because of the view of elephants.

Throwing in my thoughts on Krogan, making their skin thicker and denser. I'm actually thinking that their muscle fibers and skeletal structure will be the same, and probably will liken them to, say, Rhinos, which are notoriously hard to kill with even high-powered weaponry.

Whitechapel District - Named after a part of town in London, England, Whitechapel is infamous for the Jack the Ripper slayings, in which good old Jack played autopsy with still-breathing hookers back in 1888. As far as I'm aware, this case is still unsolved, though Patricia Cornwall (among a plithora of others in history) of _Scarpetta_ fame did an extensive collaboration with Scotland Yard to narrow it down probably as much as it will ever be solved for a one-hundred and thirty year old case.

It actually took me a bit of thought and decision of adding femShep into this. Originally she wasn't to show up at all, no mention of her since it is before any of the Service Record dates (Elysium being in 2176). I won't get into the complete and utter muddled mess that was the Alliance rank structure and confusion between Marines and Navy that BioWare did, so I bypassed all that shit. Shep's Navy, and an MP. She's also an Enlisted member that joined in 2171 when she was 17 (with permission), making her 21 now, an E-6. As for the rest of Shep, well... you're just going to have to continue reading, aren't you?

Contragravity - the Cabs in all three games a X3M Contragravity Vehicles, according to the Codex. Contragravity is, in theory, the to screen an object from some or all of the gravitational pull of a planet or other body. In practice, this means that weight is reduced to zero for takeoff or landing, and thus thrust is used for acceleration. For the Harley Iron 883 (a real bike, by the way) uses repulsors by means of compressed, charged neutron particles. This is actually what Iron Man's Repulsor Devices in his hands and feet use to give him flight and offensive/defensive abilities. Fuckin' SCIENCE! :D


	15. Therum, V

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 15 2175**

Author's Note: And now a cop story! Crime! Kingpins! Hookers! Drugs! We're going to Tubbs and Crockett this shit!

* * *

"What's got yer knickers inna bunch, luv?" Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason asked Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino as the thirty-four year old woman entered into her 'living quarters' situated at the bottom of the stack of Container, Housing Units that the Naval Security Team Members were sequestered in for living purposes. As the highest ranking person in the Marshal's Office beside the Marshal of Therum, she netted a 'Wet CHU' that came with a shower and an actual kitchenette that consisted of a small sink and heating unit for making food if she so desired. Both she and Royce shared the CHU together after a talk with Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins, explaining their situation. Sam, thankfully, hadn't seen any issues with it at all, and had simply assigned what would have been Mason's CHU to the next ranking member of the NST's, Chief Petty Officer Daniel Simmons, adjusting everyone accordingly. Most of the NST's hadn't even realized the adjustment, since it had been done before everyone had been told which CHU was there own and afforded the chance to move in. Most of the sailors were just happy that they were now living in the equivalent of a small zero-room apartment that had the luxury of luxuries; a real bed. The HV's and entertainment packages that came with it was just icing on that cake, and morale was great despite becoming cops for such a shithole colony like Nova Yekaterinburg.

No'burg... that was only half of the source of her ire right now.

"Goddamn podunk miners decided to get saucy with some of our boys." Stacy replied, flopping onto a small easy chair as Royce sat up from the bed he had been laying on, muting the HV that had been showing a Laserball match. "Alvarez and Odinero were doing their early nighttime patrol in Whitechapel, just giving the bars and brothels the once-over to make sure that nobody was dead or dying when a few of the more belligerent decided to heckle Odinero." Seaman Apprentice Matthew Odinero was an eighteen-year-old kid from Lowell City, having been born and raised on Mars before raising his hand and swearing his Oath of Enlistment. They had three green Military Police Officers in the SSV _Canberra's_ NST; Katarina Solodenanke, who was eighteen but barely looked like she could pass for twelve, Lee Hoskins who was also eighteen but tried to swagger around like he was twenty-five, and Matthew Odinero who was a quiet kid who looked perpetually lost. Able Seaman Ricardo Alvarez was the one leading Odinero around like a puppy dog, since new sailors were generally walking disasters when it came to opening their mouths and inserting their feet into them, or tried to sham their way out of details and duties. Alvarez was a good kid, had his head on straight, and both Val and Mason had their eye on him to send him to be tested to make his Petty Officer Third Class to make him an NCO. They had put Alvarez out on patrol instead of one of the Non-Coms to see how he would do and how he would handle it.

"He okay?" Mason's full attention was on her now.

"One of the asshole miners decided to make a fucking slum knife out of a broken beer bottle and cut the kid up pretty good on his arm, right in between where the bicep and tricep plate protect it." Val reported, grimacing. "Thirteen stitches with some fragments that had to be removed. Ricky shot the fucker in the face with his Lawbringer and pretty much destroyed his good looks forever, if he ever had any. Pulled the kid out, patched him up, and brought him back to the office for more proper medical treatment. Got a couple of Corpsmen attached to us now from the SSV _Chancellorville_."

"Sunna bitch." Royce grimaced. He had been asleep since he had been on the previous nights' watch, having the next day off for anyone that pulled Charge of Quarters, Staff Duty, or Officer of the Watch during the night. "How's Matty? Kid's pretty timid t' start with, an' gushin' out blood probably didn't help matters."

"No. It didn't." The Texan replied softly. She had just finished visiting him in the _ad hoc_ Med Bay that they had slapped out from one of the prison cells in the Pit. "To his credit, I guess he didn't flip his shit when he got cut, but he was pretty much howling like a baby when he made it back to the Office. Unfortunately, Sam was there for the whole thing."

"How'd she handle it?" The Australian asked quietly. Marshal Sam Collins was a lot of good things, but a nineteen-year-old kid generally didn't deal with such things in a controlled manner.

"During? She got on the horn, called up for a Medivac, in which Captain Lewellyn thought it would be better to push two Corpsmen down here on a more permanent basis as oppose to chancing something serious happening and complicating it in transo." Stacy was proud of their Marshal; girl was born with guts made out of iridium-laced titanium. Sure, she didn't have all the answers, but that's why Stacy and Royce were there. But the important part was the foundation was sound. Collins had a good head on her shoulders, and made good judgment calls without over-deliberating. She would look into a situation, gather the intelligence and information she needed, weigh in her options, and then make a plan before striking out. That was a level of maturity that one usually saw with people in their thirties, and not even then sometimes. If she had gone Navy, she'd make a hell of an Officer, probably a Provost who'd investigate military crimes. As it was, she'd ended up just fine in her current position. "After? Behind close doors? Blamed the hell out of herself. Saw it as her fault." Royce grimaced at that. As if the young woman could stop all crime just by putting on a badge and showing up.

"Bloody naive, if ya ask me."

"Actually... something happened earlier." Val kicked her feet up on the easy chair, feeling her back pop. "One of the local citizenry showed up to the Office, all smiles and politeness to Seaman Solodenanke, and told her that he was a prominent citizen among the No'burg community, and he wished to address some concerns that the colonists had with the transition and what it would mean for them. Normal stuff, right?" The Senior Chief's face twisted up, knowing that this wasn't about to be the case. "Come to find out the guy is Nico Dekker."

"Ain't that... the Teamster prat?" The Australian asked, his head cocking to one side.

"The Presidential Chairman of the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters of Therum." Stacy nodded, her face going sour. "Teamster President, local Mob boss, kingpin for the local gangs... this guy sneezes, and half the planet jumps to say 'bless you'. And he walked right into the front door because Solo's greener than fresh-cut grass and has never been to No'burg before." It was hard not to hear the name 'Dekker' when one visited on Nova Yeketerinburg. Even visiting Marines and sailors who came to No'burg for Liberty Passes knew of the name Nico Dekker. He was _the_ organized crime syndicate in No'burg and on Therum. If one wanted to re-enter negotiations with Eldfell-Ashland? You had to join the Teamsters. Wanted a promotion? Join the Teamsters. Wish to learn some piece of equipment that would help your chances of success at digging more, thus gaining more? Teamsters. Some seventy-five percent of the populous was a part of the Teamster Union, mostly because of the hope of getting a higher percentage from the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation by the means of getting licenses to use heavy machinery, better digging equipment, or raising their period level as construction workers.

But's that's not all they did.

As well as holding a monopoly on the labor union, the Teamsters were also the go-to for extortion, racketeering, graft, loans, smuggling, drugs, prostitutes, contraband, weapons, hot items, off-world items... the list went on. Every ugly thing one thought about when hearing about the Teamsters back on Earth in older days, these guys did in the here-and-now on Therum. They were powerful enough that block gangs and hood hoodlums did what the Teamsters wanted, paid their dues, and did their dirty work. Rico Dekker could give Al Capone of old a run for his money for what this guy supposedly had in money, licenses, and stuff. Supposedly, Eldfell-Ashland had a pipeline to the guy for items that were generally scrutinized when ordered and shipped to the colonies. Just say the word, pay the price, and one could have a whore visit your bed (as oppose to going to one of dozens of brothels throughout No'burg) with beer in hand. Yeah, the guy had his fingers in a lot of different pies, and they were in there good and deep. He owned (or extorted) most of the bars, clubs, saloons, restaurants, and suppliers throughout the colonial city. What started as the Pussy Pipeline (he had supposedly started off pimping out the whores that now worked the drinking establishments) became a full-fledged planetary criminal enterprise.

And he had _strolled_ into the Marshal's Office. With a smile.

"Fuck me runnin'." Royce pinched the bridge of his nose, already seeing where this was heading. "Where was, y'know, _everybody else?_ "

"A wide series of minor disturbance calls." Valentino snorted, shaking her head. She and Seaman Andres Rodriguez had been handling what had been just a small yelling match between two workers that seemed to last forever but didn't resort to fists or shivs. They normally didn't get calls for such altercations, but somehow a _dozen_ had popped up, emptying the Office save for Seaman's Solo and Frazier. None had been violent or even worthwhile, and honestly neither she nor Chief Petty Officer Simmons looked into the wider implication of it. Two junior Enlisted Members had been left to run the office with Marshal Collins working in her office, working through a myriad of caseloads and evidence for the implications that the House of Horrors had left behind, finding more and more evidence of minor characters involved. This had opened up another can of worms dealing with other enterprises that were going on in No'burg, like the Teamsters. Sam had her hands full juggling like a dozen big-time cases, working twenty-hour days day-in and day-out.

They had been blindsided and set-up. Opening up a window of opportunity, as it were.

"Graft?" Royce asked quietly, obviously having figured out what was going on. Nico Dekker, nobody's fool, had gotten as many of the _Naval_ police out of the way so he could deal directly with the one cop that mattered; the Marshal of Therum. He also had it to where if anything were to happen, the Marshal didn't have the Systems Alliance Military standing right there. In other words, he had opened the door for bribery, as well as showing what a little muscle could do in the case of calls and violence.

Brilliant, if unfortunately connected with a scumbag like Dekker.

"So he tried gettin' her on the ol' bogroll?" The Senior Chief asked, shaking his head. "The bloody gall. Would have loved t' have been a fly onna wall for that convo."

"Yeah, well, funny you should mention that..."

* * *

 _Earlier That Afternoon..._

A knock on her office door barely had Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins look up from her work as she continued to search through the Marshal's Office Cloud Server and database for more related information. She had installed a third holographic monitor to make her work easier as she collated information, building a list and network tree with corresponding notes and links to case files and evidence in drop fields whenever she highlighted a particular sub-section, referencing other cases and evidence when applied. The Marshal's Office was a complete disaster; years of dereliction and corruption had the workload almost impossible to prosecute at this point in time. Marshal Conrad Jameson, the first Marshal of Therum, had evidently been in collusion with both Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation as well as the burgeoning Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters that had been on the up-and-coming at the time, taking bribes and graft, and hadn't even flinched to use his Deputies as enforcers. Some of the previous Deputies had been on the take as well, though the number had thankfully been small, yet with the Marshal and several senior Deputies running interference and sidelining investigations by misplacing or contaminating evidence, pretty much all past cases and relevant information was practically worthless except as a reference guide.

Sam continued to work, her fingers typing away at two separate Haptic keyboards as she read from one monitor, copied notes and observations onto the second, and installed them into her tree on the third. She had been working hard on the PBT notes ever since she finished collecting and collating all the information pertaining to Marshal Bart Weathers, the Deputies involved, and anything else she could find that dealt with the slavery ring that was being run in Revan. One thing she could say about being an Autistic with a twenty-hour workday; she got a _mountain_ of work done. The door was knocked upon a second time before it unglued her from her terminals, Sam frowning as she looked up to see who it could be. Master Chief Valentino was supposed to be fielding people and calls while she worked the Teamster Case.

"Yes, can I help you?" Collins found herself looking at a man who was approximately in his late forties, a physical-looking man whom hard work seemed ingrained into him. He very much looked like a miner; a plain shirt with the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders to show off two work-hardened muscular arms, blue jeans, and a healthy-sized beard that went to his collar bone. He smelled of earth and work, a slight scent of sweat was there, but it was obvious that the man kept himself clean, though a life of mining had ensured that the impression would never wash away.

"Marshal Collins?" The man asked congenially, smiling as he stepped into her office, Collins saving her progress and minimizing the holographic monitors as she softly put her left hand onto the butt of her Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver, holstered on her left hip. She didn't know this man, and no one had announced him. Just _who_ was manning the desk right now as Deputy of the Watch?

"Yes, I am Marshal Sam Collins." The young woman replied, nodding her head politely enough while she offered the man a seat from across her desk with her right hand while doing her best to keep her left hand subtly on her pistol. The man took to the seat, flopping on it unceremonially as he propped one of his feet onto his knee, showing off working boots that were caked with dirt. "And you are...?" Her tone was polite, but she was also indicating not to push boundaries. Her office might be a public office, but one did not just let some citizen walk into the office of the Marshal of Therum whenever they pleased. That's how assassination attempts happened.

"Nico Dekker." The man plucked at some invisible something on his jeans, seemingly paying more attention to something unobtrusive than her. Sam felt her mind go quiet at the sound of the man's name. Nico Rheinhart Dekker was the Head Chairman of the Board of Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters and the CEO of its holdings, earnings, shares, distributions, and collections. That was on paper. In reality, he ran the largest organized crime syndicate in the Artemis Tau Cluster, with connections that spanned throughout Earth Alliance Space. Smuggling, graft, extortion, racketeering, loan sharking, gambling, prostitution, narcotics, bribery, blackmail, arms dealing... Dekker had a hand in all those things, and a good deal more. The PBT claimed some eighty-six thousand members throughout Therum and its five colonial cities, with another eight thousand workers that weren't miners; shopkeepers, supplies, ship crewmembers, prostitutes, the list went on. In liquidable assets, the PBT could claim hundreds of millions of Alliance Credits, and another hundreds of millions in hard assets such as mining claims, equipment, stock, and supplies. In the Systems Alliance's Most Wanted List, he was in the Top Twenty-Five. The only reason he hadn't been arrested and tossed into prison was because the previous three times Marshals or the Global Bureau of Investigations tried, it had sparked heavy rioting not only in Nova Yekaterinburg, but Eldfell-Ashland ended up paying for his defense when the Teamsters went on strike and blockaded the mines from any work from being done.

The man was a Teflon don.

And he was in her office.

With a smile.

"President Dekker." Collins acknowledged with a nod of her head, intending to keep things simple yet level. She wasn't under any illusions about the man in front of her, the very character that was the central part of her investigation that she was digging into before he walked in. It wasn't that there wasn't enough evidence; quite the contrary! No, Nico Dekker worked through a good many intermediaries that made it difficult to pin anything on him, and a whole slue of people in his debt that would confess to a crime committed or perjuring themselves, further complicating matters. The man was obviously smart enough to run a blatantly open criminal organization right in front of everyone's faces, and wealthy enough to bribe whom he wanted to ensure that business would continue running. She didn't doubt the nature of this particular visit. "I'll cut to the chase. No."

"An idealist." The older man nodded, seemingly unperturbed. "Marshal, I have been on this planet since it was first colonized in '66. I am a necessary evil, one that you'll find on every planet in the Systems Alliance, and I don't doubt there's one of me on every planet _in the galaxy_." Collin didn't argue with him; chances were that he was indeed correct. "Now, I could be crude and make comments about your youth and inexperience, but you don't lack gall or conviction, and those I respect. I could tell you that I am just a businessman, but I doubt you'll believe me. I will tell you that it will take a good deal more than you and your friends in the Systems Alliance Military to oust me." Dekker smiled. "Anything happens to me, and you'll be so swamped with riots and assaults that you'll never get an hours' rest until your men make mistakes and look like police brutality cases. All those sailors will suffer a smear campaign that will follow them until the end of their days, and your name will be synonymous with the _Stasi_ of old."

Damn if the man hadn't come prepared.

"An ENTJ." Collins smiled as she leaned back in her chair, her left hand still on her S+W. Two could play at this game. "Mr. President, I have been on this planet for a _month._ I am a necessary evil, one that _you'll_ find on every planet in the Systems Alliance, and a great many other places _in the galaxy._ " That had the man frown, his own words fed back to him. He hadn't been expecting this. "Now, I could be intimidating with the list of crimes that you are responsible, but you actually do take care of your people, and that I do respect. I could tell you that I am just a Marshal, but trust me when I say that I am more than meets the eye. Believe me when I say that I have every confidence in what you are, and your capabilities throughout your shadow empire." Sam smiled, and there was no warmth in it. "Anything happens to my men, and I'll have you dragged out on the street and beaten with sick sticks in front of God, Earth and the President of the Systems Alliance until you choke to death on your own liver. I'll take the rap for it, and a great many people will celebrate me for taking out the trash."

" _Touche_." Dekker smiled, a smile that never touched his eyes. Sam knew this to be for what it was; two sides with neither backing down.

"I am not open to bribery or coercion, but I am open to reasonability." Collins continued, her hand still casually on her revolver. "You started the Teamsters to protect the rights of the workers, and that is something I respect. The money to do so had to come from somewhere, and I am not so naive to think that dues can afford that. So many men working on a hot world like Therum so far from home with such abominable conditions is just asking for stress and frustration to break them down, and you provide a relief and release for them. You help keep the peace on a more primal level than I ever will." The President looked at her with an intrigued face. He hadn't been expecting this, either. "For the past few days, I have been running investigations against Marshal Weathers, many of the Deputies that were once here, and anything in connection with the House of Horrors and Trail of Tears. I'm stomping on it like you would a cockroach for much the same reasons. What interested me was that the PBT really had no hand in the Trail of Tears whatsoever; you had no part in slavery. This office has come corrupt and decadent, and I am cleaning house at a level that is best described as _microscopic_. But, being Marshal, I have... discretion on what gets focused upon, and what is merely tolerated."

"I am listening." Dekker obviously knew a negotiation when he heard one.

"For the victimless crimes, I will turn an eye." The Marshal began. "Prostitution, narcotics, drinking, gambling, voyeurism, and smut are all personal choices, and removing those will jump the murder rate on Therum to a point neither of us will be happy with. I also accept that these things come from somewhere, and I will also turn an eye to that, too. These men bust their asses for pennies, and you see to their rights and needs. A necessary evil." Collins let there be a moment of silence. She had just basically approved of smuggling, drugs, whoring, and several other illegal activities. It wasn't like every police agency in the Systems Alliance didn't have issues with those crimes anyhow. But it was so rife and prevalent in No'burg that she might as well arrest Knossos for being hot. Collins would literally have to import thousands of Law Enforcement Agents to crackdown on the illegal trades to stamp it out, and no police agency enjoyed such numbers. "Weapons and explosives are out of the question. I'm not under the impression that you don't have any, so I'll let you keep the ones you already do have as long as no more are brought. If one gets used in a crime and gets collected as evidence... oh well. If I find out you're smuggling weapons _after_ yesterday, I'll purge this whole damn colony with a brigade of Marines just to play EUCC with your civil rights and privileges."

There was a strong, oppressive silence in the Marshal's office.

"Just... just who the _fuck_ do you think you are?" Dekker asked, his voice getting loud and belligerent. Both of his feet were on the ground now as he leaned forward in his chair, ready to pounce. "I've been running this show since the first can landed on this planet, you young little bitch! Every credit that's passed through this dump has touched _my_ hand! Every piece of equipment and supply comes _through_ me! I fucking _own_ this town, cunt! What I say, goes!"

"That is because you dealt with men who let greed and selfishness get in the way; your kind of people." Collins replied, calm and controlled. She couldn't afford to lose her temper, to be goaded into the offensive or the defensive. As long as she appeared to be on top, she would be. "My job is _all_ the people on the planet, Mister President, including you. It is a mostly-thankless job in which people feel the need to exploit the laws to the detriment of others while profiting from that misery. I am under no illusions on how the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation garners its workers by pretending to show them the amount of Credits they _could_ earn while taxing them and charging them for basic needs. I, unfortunately, cannot break contracts, as they are protected by Systems Alliance Court of Law. What I _can_ do," she nodded to Dekker, "is talk with the one man that _can_ make a difference for all those people out there, to do some good for them. You control a large interest among the workers of No'burg, an interest that could be used for the common good. I'm not under any illusions that you are going to change your ways, but perhaps I can help you earn a respectability and credibility that give you a power that money _cannot_ buy."

There was solid silence in the office for five seconds.

"You think that just because you come here with that Marshal's badge, that everyone would dance to your tune?" Dekker asked, his tone a little less uglier than before, but by no means any less dangerous. "Jameson and Weathers both tried playing hardball with me when they first showed up, you know? Played the tough guy routine, thought they were somehow better than me." The man just smiled, a shark smile if Collins had ever seen one. "Jameson was the harder of the two, grabbing a couple of his men and having them beaten with their own zap-taps and sick-sticks. Whenever he decided to get sassy with me, I'd yank one of his guys and get him hooked on the junk. Whenever he didn't do what I ask, I'd organize a little enforcement to make him look like he couldn't do his job right. He was out of here in two years, and they replaced him with Weathers. When Weathers got here, he came with a bunch of fresh Deputies and a raging hard-on for the law. He was even dumb enough to bring his niece along, this cute little thing... what was her name again? LeVey? Levy?" The man seemed to ponder it for a moment, and then brushed it off. "Took a while to get her cute little ass out of the office to some simply bar room brawl. Poor girl didn't last a second when one of my boys clunked her over the head with a beer bottle. Know what happened then?"

She did indeed know what happened to Deputy Jessica Leveque.

"Well..." Dekker continued, all smiles and deviousness, "we dragged her into the Gutters were I had a good many of my boys paying me to get a taste of that fine young piece of ass that they only heard of but never got to see. Had to refund the last couple of dozen or so when the other Deputies finally found out where we were holding her, but by that time, about a hundred and fifty-seven boys had a good ol' time with her with as many different ways as they could. Poor girl got to be sent home after what we did to her. And you know what the best part was?" The President of the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters leaned forward, grinning with teeth. "We _vidcorded_ the whole thing. Poor old Weathers was quite broken up about it, if I remember correctly. Had him in the palm of my hand inside of his first year. Keeping him in line after that was easy.

"And I wonder..." Dekker's voice lingered to emphasize his point, "with these sailors running about, doing your dirty work, which one matters to you? You were so quick to respond to that first little disturbance that night a few days ago, arriving in your hoverbike like the cavalry of old. Did we touch a soft spot? Was there someone that mattered to you, or are you one of those ones that think protecting _everyone_ under your command is a point of personal pride?" Collins said nothing, couldn't trust to say anything. She had to keep her cool. "We've got eyes everywhere, Marshal, and we see everything. I know that hardass Texas blonde is probably one of them, a mentor for the up-and-comer, but I wonder if there was someone that caught your eye, someone that might be getting a taste in between the sheets." Dekker sat back in his chair, smiling viciously. "You think that I need money to bargain with you, but money is simply a number. You want to get into someone's head? You find something that they love and you rip it out right from under them."

"Like freedom." Collins replied, keeping her voice as normal as possible. The response wasn't one that the President wasn't expecting as his head tilted slightly in confusion. "When you walked into my office, Mister President, you did so of your own freewill. When you spoke of your crimes, it is considered a willful confession in the Alliance Court of Laws. There was no need for me to read you your Miranda Rights because I never arrested you or brought you in. There was no need for me to ask if you wished to seek council because you came under your own power and described your own actions under your own free will." She watched as Dekker's mouth dropped open. "And since I was streaming this straight to the Colonial Transmitter to the Home Office _live_ since you first announced yourself, I am sure that the Ministry of Justice is just going to love picking apart every word you said. I especially liked the part of the admittance of one-hundred and fifty-seven counts of rape against Deputy Jessica Leveque that was authorized and paid for by you. That should go well in court."

"You... fucking... _bitch!"_ Nico Dekker stood straight up from his chair, ready to pounce, but stopped himself when the Smith and Wesson came out of the Marshal's holster, the MA Revolver pointed straight at center-of-mass to the man less than two meters away. Collins thumbed back the hammer to punctuate the point as the heat sink aligned with the barrel, activating the electromagnetic rails of the barrel and the Eezo to lighten the twelve point five gram slug that would exit it at two point four c's if she pulled the trigger. At this range, it would cave a man's chest in and blow out from his back, effectively coring him if he weren't wearing armor.

"I believe you know where the door is, President Dekker." Sam replied calmly, the revolver by her left hip never wavering as she kept her blue eyes on the man. "I'd suggest finding it soonest."

* * *

 _Later That Evening..._

"...she fuckin' didn't." Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason exclaimed, his mouth hanging open as his jaw dropped, looking at Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino as the Non-Com finished telling the story, having watched the whole thing from the vidcamera that Marshal Sam Collins had installed on her first day as Marshal. She had suspected that something like this would happen, and had placed the camera for evidence on whomever would try to bribe her.

"She certainly most fucking did." Stacy replied, smiling. That young woman was a hell of a tempest, that was for sure. Nico Dekker had scooted out of the Marshal's Office with what little dignity and pride he had left under the sights of the Marshal, blathering threats as he left. One of those threats had been a promise to assault any of the NST's that came into _his_ town. Put that whole situation with the fact that Seaman Apprentice Matthew Odinero got assaulted with a broken beer bottle? It wasn't hard to connect those dots to get a very ugly picture. "Sam's in between thinking this is her fault and serving the man's ass back to him on a silver platter. She wants to make a statement."

"What's she gonna say?"

"Nothing involving words."

"Oh. Fuck." That was putting it mildly. Royce got it loud and clear. "She ain't takin' 'no' fo' an answer, nedder?"

"Nope."

"Well..." Royce looked at the holovision that was still muted, and turned it off. "Fuck it. Let's bash in some 'eads."

* * *

Author's Note: This is a part I've been waiting for; turning No'burg into a Wild West Town. Kind of like _Firefly_ mixed with the OK Corral and _A Fistful Of Dollars_. I mentioned that No'burg had favalas, now I'm going to hold your hand and walk you through it.

It's time to take a walk in hell.

* * *

 _"Can't believe we're actually going to do this."_ Came the voice of Petty Officer Third Class Kevin Todd Michaelson over the communicator as Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard walked on the left-hand column that represented the march of the NST's through Nova Yekaterinburg. Night had settled through the colony and it was approximately 2545 hours, the so-called 'happy hour' for most of the dregs that worked in the mines. With a day that lasted over twenty-eight hours, the miners generally worked a seventeen hour shift that started before Knossos rose and stopped after it set. The eleven hours that were 'off' were meant for things like sleep and relaxation, but for a large chunk of the population, that meant going to the many establishments that were located throughout the favelas of No'burg. _"Man, I thought Joughin was bad."_ Joughin was the capital of Benning, another rough-and-tough mining city that had been established since before the FCW. Michaelson was either from there, or had been stationed there, but Shepard had remembered him coming to Battle Group _Moctezuma_ two years prior as a Seaman Apprentice. No, he hadn't been stationed there. _"We're seriously doing this?"_

"Yes." Jane replied matter-of-factly, keeping her green eyes up and moving as her helmeted head acted as if it was on a pivot as she checked everything while they walked through the canyons of the favelas of No'burg, the stacks of container units converted into housing haphazard and without a thought towards safety. The street itself, if it could be called that, was merely Therum dirt compacted by years of feet and vehicles, littered with the trash and detritus of human habitation, no real sanitation occurring as empty food wrappers, soiled clothes, broken bottles, and Gods knew what else cluttered the corners and edges of the steel container domiciles where as many as six men lived in the metal boxes, stacked as high as four in off-kilter towers that never matched its brothers above, below, or beside them. Graffiti adorned the walls of the metal containers with gang signs, derogatory words, racial slurs, and the ever-popular pictures of cocks. She walked by a body in the street, and she honestly couldn't tell if the man were dead drunk, or just dead.

"You heard what happened to Odie. They caved him up with a Bud shiv on the arm. A little lower, and the kid's guts would have been decorating the floor." The redhead eyed a few of the locals that were standing in the doorways of their container units, eyeing the procession of Naval Security Team sailors as they walked in force, eleven strong. Marshal was putting up a show of force for one of their men getting hurt, and Shepard was more than willing to comply. Podunk miners were getting saucy just because Marse Collins wasn't going to take a bribe? _Fuck that_ , the Petty Officer thought to herself as she gripped her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle, conscious of the Nexus Gladius Battle Rifle stored on her back in case more persuasion was needed. Between those two, the Hadne-Keder Kessler Pistol on her right hip, and her Force Baton on her left thigh, she probably looked like she was ready for war.

It wasn't that far of a stretch.

Shepard continued walking forward, hearing the locals scuffling off as they walked, her footfalls right behind Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason as the Australian took lead of the left column, while Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino took charge of the right column. Chief Petty Officer Dan Simmons and Petty Officer Second Class James Olsen had been left in charge of the Office with the rest of the remaining sailors up and ready to respond if things got nasty while the eleven of them walked right down the middle of what was known as Bloodgulch Alley, heading right into the Bloodsalt District. This street was one of the worst; she had already lost count of how many bars, saloons, parlors, and whore houses she had walked by, not to mention the tattoo shops, drug dens, liquor sellers, and contraband suppliers. It was true to say that anyone with a business in No'burg had their hand in the black market; they couldn't afford to say no. All were being extorted and racketeered by the Teamsters that pretty much ruled everything outside of the Eldfell-Ashland Compound, extorting the people just as bad as the Energy Corp did. Shepard eyed a girl around her age dressed in bareskin shorts and a clear plastic corset that lifted her gel-filled breasts without pressing them, making the enlarged breasts seem to float while the skin-tight shorts only highlighted the curves of her hips, ass, and muff, the color matching the color of her flesh.

 _"Lots o' eye cand here, luv."_ Royce pointed out, though his voice indicated that he wasn't in the mood for sightseeing. _"Wonder whatta good toss'll cost ya?"_

"The Black Ooze, probably." Jane pointed out, hearing a few _ewww_ 's coming over the communicator. She had only heard of the Sexually Transmitted Disease that supposedly originated from certain animals on Eden Prime, jumping species when a few farmers decided that humans weren't good or plentiful enough. "Is that a fucking _Asari_?" Shepard saw another streetwalker that was dressed in what looked to be a loosely opened and very revealing nightgown.

 _"Monican."_ Master Chief Val pointed out, her tone disgusted. Jane had to look at the blue streetwalker again, still not seeing it. She saw someone with the multi-tendril crest of an Asari, with sky-blue skin. If that was a human woman, that meant she had the skin _tattooed_ that color, and the crest a surgical graft. That was just sickening. Why the fuck would someone do that to themselves? That had her shiver. _"Guess these boys ain't good enough for a Blue, so they went and got themselves a lookalike."_

 _"Minds in the game, ladies."_ Marse Sam Collins reminded them, walking ahead of the pack of sailors that traveled in two five-man columns through Bloodgulch Alley, completely bypassing the Monican Asari who gestured towards the leading woman with the universal gesture of 'looking for a good time' by touching herself along her breasts and her vagina while sticking her ass out slightly. Sam strode by without even turning her head, her big ass cowboy hat staying straight and true. _"We're coming up to our objective, boys. Get your game faces on."_

That was the part Shepard wasn't looking forward to; the Synapps.

In every corner of the galaxy, where men and women of low character came to do business and pleasure, there existed an establishment. Whether it served alcohol or not was moot, and from the highest halls of galactic civilization to the lowest dregs of space stations in the Black Sectors of the Terminus, the establishment was a focal point for those whose power came from black deeds and blacker deals. Such places were a free market of illicit goods and ventures that had the common man blanch at the thought, but such locales existed to cater to those who had long since walked off the normal path. Deals were made at tables that affect thousands upon thousands of lives as paths were made for such enterprises as narcotics trade, slavery, smuggling, and much, much worse. Anywhere there was trade to be had, there was always a place such as that in existence to churn a profit off of misery and woe.

The Synapps was such a place.

An establishment created sometime after the founding of Therum and the implantation of Nova Yekaterinburg, the Synapps was one of the few buildings not made of cargo containers converted into domiciles or shops. Built from a pre-fab building that was suppose to be a gymnasium back when the thought of establishing a school wasn't considered a bad joke, the Synapps was a establishment that was both popular and providing. In it were drinks from a hundred worlds, and one of the few places where females could be found easily for a price. There were games of skill, games of chance, holovisions on the walls for those interested in watching sports or making calls upon, while a dance floor populated a good portion of the center. Added to the underside of the roof of the ten meter structure was a series of rooms in which access was controlled, the VIP rooms where traders, shippers, and shady businessmen made their deals away from scrutiny, protected by a series of gentlemen who 'persuaded' those who had no business there to go elsewhere. The Synapps was quite possibly the actual brain trust of the Teamster criminal organization, running everything that it had its many fingers in, taking a percentage of any deals made through their ports and with their people.

Marse Collins was going right for the head of the snake.

Bloodgulch Alley ended when it deposited itself right into a small square that was simply known as the Nethers; a small area that was suppose to represent an empty city block for whatever reason it had originally been established for and failed. Now it represented a teaming mass of humanity for those who wished to enter the Synapps. Almost all of them were miners, though there were a few ship-owners and the like that undoubtedly also came here, probably to get deals made for supplies in the backrooms that say under the VIP rooms, as Marse Collins suggested there would be. Hundreds of people were gathered in the Nethers, the overpowering din of too many people talking thankfully dampened by the e-plugs that Petty Officer Shepard wore in her ears under her helmet, which would amplify noise for detection purposes when worn. The Marshal was the only one not wearing a helmet, the NST's suppose to be 'anonymous' though Master Chief Valentino and herself would at least be distinguishable from the other eight due to the fact that their Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor had breasts on the breastplate, marking them as women. It wasn't the first time that the cosmetic addition had stumped the MP.

 _"Straight on through, and sick'em anyone that tries to get handsy."_ The Marshal said over the communicator as she led them into the Nethers, miners and workers slowly parting as the team of eleven began to plow through the masses, people stepping away as they realized what was going on. Jane wasn't sure she was fine with that or not, seeing the faces of the podunks glowering at them. It would have almost been easier if a few had decided to stand in their way or act out a little aggression. Instead, everyone that saw them immediately stepped out of their way, as if to lead them into their destination. The feeling didn't sit well with her at all.

"Is it just me or are we walking towards our own execution?" Shepard asked, her right hand on the pistol grip of her Lawbringer while her left was near the Kessler just in case.

 _"The long walk off the short plank."_ Able Seaman Ricardo Alvarez muttered, obviously feeling it too.

 _"Ezekiel comes to mind."_

"Um... who?" Shepard asked, wondering what Marse Collins was talking about.

 _"It's a book inna Bible, Blue."_ Royce cleared it up for her as they continued through the Nethers, halfway to the Synapps, miners still parting the way for them. _"Whacha got for us blokes an' sheilas, gov'ner?"_

 _"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men."_ Marshal Collins began, her voice even yet exuding strength, even through the communicator. _"Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children."_ They were almost to Synapps, but Chief Shepard was too riveted to the words that Marse Collins was saying to really notice. _"And I shall strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger against those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers."_ There were within thirty meters to the door, and no one was slowing them down as Marse Collins continued to recite. _"And you shall known that my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."_

 _"Amen."_ Master Chief Valentino called out, nodding from her spot in the right. _"That is some straight-up righteous shit to say right before an op."_

And like that, they were at the door at Synapps.

Chief Shepard noted that the establishment had a line of people waiting to go in like some hot club she'd seen while on Liberty Passes in better locales than Therum, mostly men but sprinkled with women. Marse Collins was having none of it, though, as she had maneuvered the team past the line and right towards the door, where a burly man in a decent suit bounced the door. He was looking right at the Marshal, and Shepard noted that she was looking right back. No fear whatsoever.

"You're not on the list." The bouncer said, the man obviously feeling his oats. He was at least twenty-five centimeters taller. Probably a solid one hundred kilos to Marse Collins' fifty plus. No contest.

Marshal pulled leather and pistol-whipped the man upside his skull quicker than he could react, dropping him unconscious onto the ground.

"Damn." Shepard said before she could stop herself, her tone impressed. That had been a quick draw, not to mention cracking the beefcake's skull with the barrel of that mammoth killer of hers. "Talk about losing your head over a girl." Royce snickered out loud, as well as some of the others.

 _"...and as the poet walked beside me,"_ Marse Collins spoke, her voice soft and solemn, _"he spoke to me the words inscribed upon the arch, its letters deep and eternal. The words that came from his mouth as he described left me feeling hollow and despaired, no truer words ever spoken. 'Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter', as we descended into Hell."_

With that, Marshal Sam Collins pulled her Lawbringer from off her chest and kicked open the door.

* * *

Author's Note: I'd apologize for the _Miami Vice_ reference at the very beginning, but that show was _amazing_ , and I absolutely loved it when I was a kid.

Slum Knife - There's a thousand names for impromptu slashing/stabbing weapons of various materials, generally called shanks and shivs in prisons.

Period Level - Anyone that's anyone that works a tradecraft knowns about period levels; Apprentice, Journeyman, Expert, and Master. Each is divided into separate levels called _periods_ (In Carpentry, you start as an Apprentice Ninth Period) in which each involves a certain amount of work (ie, hours) as well as the ability to perform certain tasks. Generally, there is a test to raise your period level. Obviously, this is very lucrative as each period is considered a promotion, and you get a pay raise. BTW, it costs money to do this to; the tests can be hundreds of dollars as material and a panel are used to grade you. It takes _years_ to reach Journeyman, which is like anywhere from four to six years, which is were heavy equipment operators generally come in.

International Brotherhood of Teamsters - _The UNION_ of unions, the IBT has gathered and collected almost every large-scaled labor union in America, and oversees the labor laws, clauses, rights, and privileges of workers throughout America, everything from farming to high-tech industry. Yes, this is the same Teamster Union that most recognize James Riddle "Jimmy" Hoffa from. His son is currently President. I likened the Teamsters of Therum to the IBT, but also turned them into the Mob as well.

Stasi - The East German Ministry for State Security, or _Ministerium fur Staatssicherheit_ , the Stasi were the secret police and intelligence agency of the German Democratic Republic (East Germany) from 1950-1990, is considered to be one of the most effective and repressive intelligence and secret police agencies to have ever existed. Surprisingly, it was their psychological attacks (known as ' _Zersetzung_ ' or biodegradation) that were so pervasively effective, leading to victims to mental breakdowns and suicides as oppose to obvious arrests and torture. As an intelligence agency, it was widely believed and accepted that they quite possibly had dirt on everyone inside the borders of the GDR, employing (or coersing) hundreds of thousands if not millions of informants. At one point in time during the Eighties, there was one _Stasi_ agent for every 166 East Germans, making it one of the most populous police agencies in percentage to the overall population of said country in the world. As a comparison, the Federal Bureau of Investigations employ one FBI agent per _twelve thousand_ Americans

ENTJ - Extrovert, Intuitive, Thinking, Judgment, the Commanding Role. In the Myers-Briggs Personality Test, there are sixteen personality types based upon two dichotomies on four paradigms; Extrovert/Introvert, Intuitive/Sensing, Thinking/Feeling, Judgment/Perception. Almost all ENTJ's are Type A personalities.

For the walls of No'burg, just imagine the walls of a truck stop or gas station bathroom stall wall. Seriously, who brings sharpies to a bathroom?

Trying to make futuristic crime (and well, everything else) was a bit of a challenge, but there are a few movies that do it beautifully. _Bladerunner_ provides a great backdrop, though Therum is a dry planet. Both _Dredd_ s (the one with Sly and Karl Urban) also give a good motif. I was trying to figure how things done today would look two centuries from now, like breast implants being different, or the kind of drugs, and holographic tattoos that seem actually three-dimensional. And yes, I created an STD, liking it to the Black Clap.

Monican - I'm sorry that I brought this up from such a shitty movie, but I loved the cartoon shorts of _Aeon Flux_ back in the Nineties. That movie just needs to be executed, though.

Ezekiel 25:17 – Brought to you by Brother Tarantino and the Rev. Sam L. Jackson. Say what again, motherfucker.

"...Abandon hope..." I don't actually know the paragraph from Dante Alligheri's Divine Comedy _Inferno_ (Canto III) in which he and the poet Virgil first enter hell after bypassing Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guards it. The first entrance is said to be an archway with the inscription 'Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter' for the souls who would pass through its gate, never to leave. Dante knew his shit.

Ok, so I looked it up.

 _"Through me you pass into the city of woe, through me you pass into eternal pain._

 _Through me among the people lost of yae, justice the founder of my fabric moved._

 _To rear me was the taske of Power divine, Supremest Wiisdom and priemeval love._

 _Before me things create were none, save things Eternal and eternal I endure._

 _Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intarate, All hope abandon, ye who enter here."_

Translated from Latin, Rev. C.F. Cary (1814)


	16. Therum, VI

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 15 2175**

Author's Note: I turn 35 today (5/20). Likewise, this is, for all intents Chapter 16 out of 30. Halfway point obvious?

This is going to be one part Chora's Den, one part OK Corral, and one part all those rave scenes from the _Blade_ movies.

And for your viewing pleasure? Combichrist's _Never Surrender_.  On with the show!

* * *

The door flew open as Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins rammed the heel of her right boot through the portal, smashing it open as the wooden frame splintered slightly as the jam tore through it from the force as she walked into the establishment known as Synapps, multi-colored lights flashing and strobing through the opening as bass-fueled beats and synthitars brought music to the ears of the Naval Security Team as Petty Officer Jane Catherine Shepard found herself entering what appeared to be a full-fledged club that would be more appropriate in Neo York City or Vegaslas as the thrumming beats of the pulse drums coming from the kiloWatt speakers rattled bones as the lights strobed and pulsed through the structures' confines. The entire Team had entered through the door and found themselves walking into, of all things, a dub-rave with synthtronica permeating the air with its dub-rock and words. It was loud enough that it felt like the music was being played straight to her brain. The heavy beat dropped as the lyrics came.

 _"Self-medicating, craving punishment."_

Marse Collins moved forward, heading from the door into the thick crowds that populated Synapps, the pulses of lights and thrumming music almost obliterating thought as the Marshal moved forward, Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino and Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason moved with her, like deadly ghosts, Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifles at the low ready.

 _"Blaming myself for a world on fire."_

Chief Shepard gritted her teeth and moved forward, her left hand clapping onto her Force Baton on her armored left thigh as she pushed towards the crowd, her green eyes trying to absorb everything at once, too much info for her to digest. The flickering lights and the movement of bodies everywhere was like a stampede mixed with a concert as she barely saw what appeared to be the bar over on the far left side decorated with neon and blacklight.

 _"No more shame, no more pity, no more..."_

Of course they were going to go right through the middle of it all, right where the dance floor was where hundreds of patrons were completely ignorant of what was about to steamroll right through them. Marse Collins wasn't going to be subtle.

 _"(They rise through the ashes!)"_

One of the club-goers, a miner, seemed to have noticed the Marshal's hat as he purposefully got in her way and placed his hand on her armored shoulder to stop her.

 _"I will suffer!"_

Shepard watched as Collins grabbed the offenders' hand.

 _"I will burn!"_

She then lifted and twisted it, contorting the man at a painful angle.

 _"Let hate prevail!"_

The Marshal then drove her elbow through the man's forearm, and Jane could almost hear the bone snap.

 _"Enslave my soul, but I'll never surrender!"_

Collins abandoned the man as they moved on, the whole process taking less than five seconds.

 _"(Never! Surrender!)"_

The music continued to thump and vibrate as the NST went right through the middle of the dance floor, both Stacy and Royce having their respective batons out; a zap-tap for the Master Chief, and a sick-stick for the Senior Chief. Both employed them with extreme prejudice as people thought trying to jostle the sailors was a good idea. At least three decorated the dance floor with vomit as the Petty Officer tapped one asshole with her Bonecracker after he tried giving her armored ass a good squeeze. He ran off holding his broken hand as the ten sailors and one Marshal wedged right through the thickest portion of the dance floor as if they owned the place, showing all who cared to look who really ran the roost.

 _"Silent words from a bleeding mouth."_

Collins shoved one ignorant miner away as they wedged through the dancing crowd, causing the man to stumble back several, feet, spinning about ready to protest. He took one look at who and what had accosted him and thought better of it. The milling of the dancers made it hard to tell who was trying their luck and who was just unfortunately in the way as Jane shoved one dancing miner away with her right hand, her left still gripping her Bonecracker.

 _"Swallows pride with a swollen tongue."_

One man was coming in too fast to be an accident, his face flushed with drink and belligerence as he barreled straight towards Senior Chief Mason, hands raising for attack. The Non-Com wasted no time once she saw intent as she juked to the left, grabbing the podunk by his hair with her right hand and introducing his face to her rising right knee, smashing his nose as he flopped onto the ground while Jane slid back into her spot in the column, her right hand returning back to her Lawbringer's pistol grip.

 _"Everything is nothing, life in a shallow grave."_

The press of dancers was quickly becoming a mob as they continued through the dance floor, Chief Shepard giving a love tap with her Force Baton on one man's shin when he came to give her either a bear hug or to tackle her as another man got the Bonecracker to the ribs when he followed up where his previous companion failed. Royce had already punched one man in the face while Able Seaman Ricardo Alvarez zap-tapped a brute in the neck behind her, sending the miner to convulsions on the ground.

 _"Too ashamed to feel joy, life collecting dust."_

Finally they had broken through the press of dancers and ne'er-do-wells, the members of the NST finding themselves off the dance floor, but no less out of danger. Marshal Collins was already in the middle of a Judo hip throw from someone who had tried to take a swing off of her, the man slamming onto the wooden floor with an audible thud despite the music as she returned to her standing form, slipping by another fist as she twisted and planted her fist into the man's short ribs, doubling him over before slamming the palm of her hand into the back of his head near the base of his skull. Damn, girl knew her hand-to-hand!

 _"No more shame, no more pity, no more..."_

They had arrived at their predetermined destination, only a dozen meters straight on from where the VIP rooms were attached to the ceiling, underslung from the rafters. Each of the eleven pulled at their Lawbringers and raised them to their shoulders.

 _"(They rise from the ashes!)"_

They began to fire.

 _"I will suffer!_

 _I will burn!_

 _Let hate prevail!_

 _Enslave my soul, but I'll never surrender!_

 _(Never! Surrender!)"_

As triggers were pulled in the Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms series of 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifles, micro-VI processors engaged the on-board metal shaver to the kilogram block of NiFe Mu-Metal ammo block located in the lower portion of the weapons' receiver, like an ammunition magazine of old. The shaver dislocated a five and a half gram bit of metal, forming it into spherical shape for aerodynamic purposes as it was magnetically sent through the Eezo-laced chamber of the weapon. Negative electrical current at least than a volt and an amp was charged through the cylindrical-shaped Element Zero as the rounded piece of Nickel-Iron was passed through, lightening the mass of the round to zero grams; a theoretical impossibility made reality. Current through the weapons' capacitors was sent into the electromagnetic rails of the weapons' barrel, spinning solenoids rotating faster and faster in microseconds' time to a rate of thirty-seven kilocycles a second, charging the magnetic acceleration ducts of the barrel. The ferrous material of the NiFe Mu-Metal round was 'grabbed' by the port of the barrel, ripped from the Eezo-laced chamber as it traveled down the forty-five centimeter barrel, passing ten rapidly rotating solenoids that increased the velocity of its passage exponentially with each gate passed. By the time the five and a half gram slug passed through the final solenoid and out of the barrel, it was traveling at a speed of around one hundred and seventeen meters per second; a single percent of the speed of light. When the round left the barrel, it was traveling with the kinetic force of six and a half kiloJoules of energy.

Each round, being an alloy of Nickel-Iron, was not only highly ferrous and thus great for magnetic induction, but also quite conductive. The mixture of being sent through an electromagnetic rail and the slightly higher-than-necessary charge put through the round when it entered the chamber meant that the round fired through the 2169 Lawbringer was bathed in electrostatic energy. Normally, this milliWatt of electrical force was barely registered among most sapient species in the galaxy, but being accelerated through a tunnel of concentrated magnetism while holding an electrostatic charge, collected any waste energy as it passed through the barrel, the charge amplifying as it accelerated down the electromagnetic acceleration tunnel of the barrel. When the round left the weapon to fly towards its intended target, it had collected kiloWatts of static electricity at its disposal.

Thus it was known as the Phasic Round.

When the Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms Corporation created the 2169 Lawbringer, it had intended to make a non-lethal weapon for law enforcement personnel, as well as anyone else who didn't intend to actually kill their targets. The oversight of the static electricity in the round was actually proven to be a benefit; the negative charge let the round easily penetrate through the ionization field of kinetic shields meant to prevent round strikes, and it would discharge against any metallic compounds it struck against, delivering a massive charge to sensitive electronics and computerized programs. In other words, the round was quite effective against opponents in armor, a few rounds able to shut down even a foe in heavy armor, unable to move as servos and actuators shutdown with the on-board VI systems shutting down from an overload of voltage and amperage.

Though considered a rather curious weapon among Assault Rifles, the Lawbringer was none-the-less a popular one because of this attribute, especially among law enforcement agencies and anyone wishing to minimize collateral damage.

When the eleven models of the 2169 Lawbringers were fired upon the VIP rooms located a dozen meters above the floor of Synapps, each semiautomatic round struck into alumniglas windows that were meant to be bulletproof to a certain fashion. Certainly the creators of such protection hadn't made the thinned-sliced aluminum, annulled to transparency, with the thought of so many electrified rounds striking it at once, both the force and the charge of the rounds immediately weakening the alumniglas past its proscribed defensive rating. The windows shattered quickly, showering fragments and splinters both on the inside and the outside of the VIP rooms as more rounds were pumped into the rooms at two rounds a second from each assault rifle, across all eleven rifles. Within five seconds of the first shots, over a hundred rounds had been fired into the half-a-dozen VIP rooms, shattering through the alumniglas and penetrating through the plasticrete walls. Round after round entered the rooms without discretion or discrimination as they struck through or against anything they hit; shattering alumniglas, splintering plasticrete, and punching flesh. Within twenty seconds of the first rounds fired, the ten members of the Naval Security Team and the Marshal leading them ceased fire as the VIP rooms stood testament to their volleys of fire, dust and debris sprinkling their air as the remains settled from the onslaught.

 _"Master Chief, you and your team hold the floor."_ Marse Collins spoke up a few seconds after their fire subsided, Chief Shepard turning about to watch their flank, seeing the hordes of clubgoers standing a healthy distance back from the Team, edging away as more than a few found appropriate reasons to head towards the exits of Synapps. _"Find yourselves a good defensive location in case anyone decides to come in with something worse than bad attitudes. Update HQ, and have Chief Simmons ready up the paddywagon."_

 _"Understood."_ Master Chief Valentino replied as she pointed to two of her team members, indicating strong points for them. _"Eyes up and alert, sailors. We've got non-lethals, so don't be afraid to engage at any indication of defiance or attack."_

 _"Senior Chief? Let's take a look at what we've bagged."_ The Marshal of Therum told Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason.

 _"Ya take me t' the nicest places, Marse."_ The Australian replied with a swanky tone. _"Next desto, VIP Lounge and bogan scumbag central. Blue? Ya get rearguard."_

"Aye aye, SC." Jane replied.

* * *

Alliance Frontier Marshal Sam Collins took the stairs that led to the VIP rooms two at a time as she held her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle tight to her chest, barreling upwards on the stairs as she was followed closely by Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason, Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard, Able Seaman Ricardo Alvarez, Seaman Lawrence Frazier, and Seaman Apprentice Lee Hoskins. The staircase was at least fifteen meters long, heading up right towards the roof of the gymnasium structure that had been converted into the Synapps, the VIP rooms disconnected completely from the rest of the club save by the staircase access that began at one of the corners of the club, dominating the upper portion of the wall, taking up almost the complete portion of upper rafters from one wall to the next, the staircase leading to a corridor that butted against the wall while the rooms themselves fed from the corridor so that anyone who used them could look out through their alumniglas portal and down at the mass of humanity that was below them; a position of superiority with a view of dominance.

Sam reached the top of the stars in quick time, shouldering past the fragmented door that had been hit a few times by phasic rounds during the NST's assault, the totality of the four hundred plus rounds striking the VIP rooms becoming evident with punctures in the walls from bullet strikes decorating along the walls as the Marshal smashed through the door with her left shoulder, knocking the cellophane door off its hinges as she bum-rushed into the corridor with her Lawbringer coming up to the up-and-ready into the hollow of her right shoulder as she took the path of least resistance forward, assaulting through the portal and continuing forward with an easy side-step into the corridor. Her Lawbringer was already pointing down towards the farthest door, where two more were off to the right of the corridor before it, three rooms for the club's owners to take advantage of privacy for its high-end customers. Royce was right behind her, pivoting and taking the far end of the corridor behind her when she heard him fire three rounds.

 _"Target neutralized."_ The Australian replied over the radio communicator for the team's benefit, as well as that of Master Chief Valentino and her team. _"Still got some dingoes on a walkabout here. Buckleys on a good nick wit' these boondockers, so keep a peeper out on someone chuckin' a sickie."_

 _"Jesus. I need an English-to-Straine_ _Translation for that one."_ Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard called out as she moved to the opposite side of the corridor by Collins' side, her own Lawgiver up and ready. _"I think he might have given a recipe on how to cook shrimp on the barbie."_ Despite herself, Sam let off a chuckle at that.

 _"No culture whatsoever."_ Mason sighed, _faux_ -ing exasperation. _"How I'm not aggro at ya, sheila, is beyond me."_ Seam Frazier had added himself to Collins' stack by standing behind her, his assault rifle held just above her right shoulder. _"Frazier, ya and Alvarez got hallway duty. Clear the rooms an' frag anyone still standin'."_

"Copy." Sam replied as she looked over to Seaman Frazier, the dark-skinned man nodding as he locked down the hallway as Collins moved to the first door, standing on its opposite side as Chief Shepard took the near side, both of them standing with their backs to the wall, the first door in between them. The Marshal looked to Chief Shepard as the woman held up a fist, indicating who was going to enter first by playing, of all things, rock-paper-scissors. Sam shook her head with a smirk as she thumbed at herself first, and then the Petty Officer to indicate the order of march. The Petty Officer just smirked through her helmet's faceplate as she readied her Lawbringer, nodding her readiness. Collins nodded in return as she pivoted to face the door, reared back with her right leg a second before thrusting it into and through the first door, breaking it off of its jam as the portal was forced open.

The Marshal continued moving forward, using her momentum of kicking through the door to lead her through the now-opened portal, forcing herself into the room with her Lawbringer raised as she immediately moved to the right, towards the path of least resistance as her weapon cleared the right corner, where at least two people were down on the ground, seemingly down for the count. Sam moved into the room a few feet before sweeping to the left, trailing the wall that led deeper into the room, towards the far right corner, where damage and casualties became more apparent as debris, trash, and bodies were strewn about in a haphazard fashion, debris having fallen upon whatever was in the way when struck with phasic rounds. Collins' assault rifle went from the far-right corner to the far-left corner, clearing the rest of the room while Chief Shepard did the opposite; clearing from the near-left corner, to the far-left corner, and then finally to the far-right, where their arc of firing would eventually overlap, covering every portion of the room at the same time while preventing being attacked from the flank or the rear.

"Clear."

 _"Clear, Marse."_ Shepard piped up, her rifle still scanning. _"MC, we've got seven down, none standing."_ The Petty Officer was relaying what they were encounter in the rooms to Master Chief Valentino both for informatory purposes as well as possible medical aid. Phasic rounds, while non-lethal, did not necessarily equate to non-damaging. It could and would break ribs, leave concussions, cause severe contusions, and leave soft-tissue damage. If anyone had an existing medical condition before being shot there were real possibilities of it exasperating the condition, such as heart murmurs, internal hemorrhaging, or pulmonary issues. Checking for such things wasn't the main priority though; submission and subduing was the main objective, and then apprehension and searching. Then they could check the casualties. _"Frazier, two friendlies coming out."_

 _"Come on out."_ Seaman Frazier replied, still locking down the corridor in case anyone wished to try and leave for whatever reason, be it escape or retribution. Shepard pivoted and took the lead, leaving the room with Collins right at her heels as they bounded tactically down the corridor towards the next room, moving along the near wall without brushing against it to avoid ricochets that generally followed along walls. They bounded towards the next door, stacking before it together as oppose to being on opposite sides as Chief Shepard moved to breach the door, doing so in the same fashion that Sam had done; putting her best foot forward, as the joke went. The Petty Officer caved the door in with her right foot, following through with her momentum as she went to the right and Sam rushed in behind her, following the door's direction of travel, slamming her shoulder into it to strike it against the wall to ensure no one was standing behind it as she cleared the near-left corner, finding a man still standing. She put a controlled pair into the man, knocking him back into the far wall where he fell to the ground as she continued to sweep-and-clear, moving to the far left corner where she heard two sets of controlled pairs behind her as her Lawbringer swept by another standing person, this one a woman in a cocktail dress. Collins put a controlled pair in her, too. The woman went down with a cry of pain, falling to the floor.

"Clear, two put down."

 _"Clear. Another two put down, five down initially."_ Shepard called out as the Marshal and the redhead exchanged a quick glance and nod, indicating that both were fine and ready as Sam pivoted and moved towards the door, stopping short of it. _"Fraizer, two friendlies coming out."_

 _"Caution, got someone poking their head out from the far room."_ The Seaman replied, and a three-round series was fired. _"Corridor is hot, prepare to engage."_ Another three rounds were sent, the Seaman keeping whomever was curious or preparing from engaging the team. _"Last covering fire."_ Five rounds came fast as the dark-skinned man could fire them to threatening the possible assailant with phasic rounds, intending to keep them away from the door. Collins moved as soon as the last shot was fired, moving along the wall of the corridor with a foot gap between her and it as she raised her Lawbringer up and ready as soon as she rounded the corner of the door to move towards the far room. She fired a round into the door first, and then one short of it into the adjoining wall, where a suspect might be hiding in cover, and then on the far adjoining wall on the other side of the door for the same purpose as she tactically bound towards the door in an isosceles stance, bent forward from the hips without arching or hunching her back, her knees bent to present a smaller target while keeping her body square to her target to maximize her Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor for protection, not chancing the thinner portion that was at the ribs for more streamlined mobility and flexibility, keeping the thicker portion of the chest towards the target. She reached the door and immediately through her shoulder into it, feeling the wooden portal slam open as it cracked against something before opening fully.

There was a man on the other side, immediately in front of her.

Marshal Sam Collins' Autistic mind went into overdrive as adrenaline and stress amplified as time compressed as she recognized the threat at a time that pushed the boundaries of normal human reaction. The man, taller and thicker than her, had his eyes slammed shut from pain as his nose, freshly crooked, was starting to seep blood from its nostrils, indicating where the door had hit him when she had plowed into it. He was off-balanced and still reacting to being struck in the face with a door when the Marshal of Therum moved with precision and speed, the buttstock of the Nexus' line of Lawbringers moving from her shoulder and into the man's face at a high rate of speed, striking him in the side of the chin with the flat of the buttstock where it was broadest. The man stumbled back a couple of steps as Sam ducked and pivoted towards the right side, clearing the near-right corner as she stepped towards it, hearing a controlled pair going off just above her head as Petty Officer Shepard shot the man twice with her own Lawbringer before moving to the left. Collins cleared the rest of the room without incident, as did Shepard.

"Clear."

 _"Clear, one guy just got a mouthful of Marse's buttstock, MC."_ The Chief's tone was jubilant as she called out the action. _"One put down, eleven already down, last room clear port side."_

 _"Understood and acknowledged, Chief Shepard."_ Master Chief Valentino replied over the communicator. _"Timid locals have left the club, so all we got left are the rabblerousers."_

"Understood." Collins took a knee, trying to control her breathing as the adrenaline wore off and her Autistically-hypercalculiac mind tried to reprocess everything at a normal speed, the lights and sounds of the club having bombarded her with too much information and sensation. Clubs evidently weren't her thing, and she had to struggle to keep her focus when walking through the center of Synapps. Anything more complicated, and she didn't think she could have managed. The last thing she wanted was to have an episode in the middle of scumbag central. "Master Chief, pick two to guard the stairs while the rest apprehend and search for weapons. Make the call to HQ to spin up the paddy wagon and bring a couple extra guys for crowd control. We kicked the hornet's nest with this one, but we got what we came for." She was looking at the crumpled form of President Nico Dekker sprawled upon the floor, laying on his back with limbs splayed. Gone was the look of the common man; no miner's clothes on him anymore. Now he wore what appeared to be a well-made tailored suit that while completely out-of-place for Therum, fit well with the VIP room she was in.

There was no doubt that she had come knocking during something important.

"Chief, you seeing what I'm seeing?" Sam asked as she turned her head to look at Chief Shepard, the redhead staring hard at three of the occupants. It was hard to miss the fact that they were Batarians males, two of them dressed in the manner of bodyguards; Batarian-oriented suits too bulky not to be ballistic-weave fiber layered into the cloth for protection against small arms. Both were obviously armed with Praxis Munitions Pryagon Submachine Guns, weapons that were only legal in the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems, but wildly popular in Hegemony Space for the splintering effect the rounds had when hitting anything, causing a great deal of internal damage when hitting flesh and organs, commonly known as 'shredder rounds'. The third Batarian was dressed in something more gauche, a suit of Batarian make and cut, chiefly in colors more pleasing to Khar'shanians, mostly browns and reds. By the scarf that was drapped over the shoulders and the platinum chain that connected from a cheek piercing to a fold along it's neck marked it as a wealthy upper-caste Batarian.

Collins didn't have to think long and hard on the implication on what the male Batarian represented.

"Check to see if he's got a device about the size of a small remote control in one of his pockets." The Petty Officer informed the Marshal, the redhead's eyes dark and her face harsh as she looked at the Khar'shanians. "Pulse Emmittance Device. It's for control chips and Cortex Containment Modulators. Pretty standard for slavers." The taller woman's voice was thick with anger, almost spitting out her words. Sam looked to her for a moment, seeing how she had taken off her helmet, her face slightly sweaty from wearing the Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor helmet, her fiery tresses held back in a simple ponytail at the nape of her neck. There was something more to Chief Shepard's face than normal hatred for slavers or Batarians; something primal, something personal. Now was obviously not the time to bring it up, but Collins wasn't about to let a personal decision get in the way of professionalism, either. She'd have to keep an eye on the Petty Officer to make sure the Non-Com didn't do anything to compromise the op or herself.

The Marshal got off of her knee and stood up, moving over to the Batarian in question. The Khar'shanian was taller than the average human man, only slightly so normally, with a body that suggested that he was muscular, or at least physically fit. The suit that he wore seemed to be tailored to him; it fit his body well, with the cuffs and hems hitting in the proper places like it would for a human, and the buttoned front was neither loose nor was it straining to hold together. Looking over to the Chief, Sam indicated for the Non-Com to cover her while she checked the Batarian, getting a nod from Chief Shepard as she raised her Lawbringer to her shoulder, ready to engage if necessary. Collins knelt beside the Batarian as she placed her left hand on the butt of her Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver in its mag-lock Kylex holster, her own Lawbringer magnetically locked against the chest piece of her Onyx Armor as she took a knee next to the downed Khar'shanian, her eyes looking at the triangular shape of the Batarian's face, the two sets of eyes closed and his breathing indicating that he was unconscious. She used her right hand to pat down the obvious places for hidden items; waistband and under the armpits for any holstered weapons, and ankles for back-up weapons before rifling through his pockets. Her hand brushed against something hard and rectangular in the Khar'shanian's pocket.

"Got something here." Sam told the Petty Officer as she reached into the pocket, uncomfortable as she felt her fingers brushing against the outline of the Batarian's upper thigh, feeling the short, thick fur that covered the sapient beings' body. The tips of her fingers touched the hard object in the male's pocket, and she grasped it gently, unsure what it was or what it could do. The device felt as wide as a Skyllian Five card, and about as thick as a deck. Collins did her best to pull it out without anything being pressed or activated. She had already dislodged a portion of it before it occurred to her that she could have simply cut the pocket to avoid such a scenario, but it was already too late to change that. The Marshal took a deep breath and pulled out the rest of the device while sucking in a hissing breath through her teeth. The device came out without any apparent issues as Sam held it in her right hand, studying it for a moment without recognition. There wasn't like a datapad or a storage device. She held it up for Chief Shepard to see.

"That isn't a PED." The redhead finally said, frowning in thought. "It's close to it, but there's no activation switch or button on it. Not sure what it is or does. Looks... well, looks like a portable kinetic shield generator, except there's no battery connected to it." Sam merely grunted at that; she hadn't seen a kinetic shield generator by itself before as they came integrated in armor and were next to impossible to modify or remove, forcing a user to purchase more expensive armor for improved protection. It was how armor manufactures stayed in business, after all. Collins had never heard of one that came separate, which was why ballistic cloth manufacturers worked hard on producing and innovating garments and personal armor for those who did not wear armor all the time. Even the Asari, who could generate a biokenetic defense field with the use of their Biotics, wore ballistic cloth when their biokenetic energy was depleted or to stop a surprise attack. Whatever it was, it obviously was something important. "We could check with Chief Fontaine. He's rated as an armor repair technician, and he's pretty savvy when it comes to new tech. Keeps up with several company lines and product release portfolios as I understand it."

"A good idea." The Marshal replied as she activated her Omnitool, the holographic representation appearing around her left arm like a gauntlet as she brought up a holographic menu where her Apps were, selecting one from the Haptic screen marked 'Evidence Collection'. The App activated as she aimed her Omnitool towards the device and began to spray a fine mist of stored Omnigel that was stored in a small container on her armor for fabrication purposes, coating the device with the gel as it began to solidify and harden. The App logged the date/time it was activated, as well as the size, weight, and dimensions of the object for legal purposes for chain of custody. The coated device went into a hardened pouch on her armor for safe keeping now that it was protected from accidental or purposeful activation until someone could investigate it later. Once that was done, she went to the App labeled 'Cuffs' and created a pair of Omnigel-created metal rings to loop around the wrists of the male Batarian in question, cuffing his hands behind his back. She then proceeded to do the same with the other two Batarians, the obvious bodyguards being relieved of their Pryagon Submachine Guns before being cuffed themselves while Chief Shepard stood overwatch, keeping an eye on the other occupants in the room for movement. That being done, Sam moved over to the one person in the room she recognized.

Nico Reinhardt Dekker.

"Got the bag man." The Petty Officer said quietly as she took a few steps over as Collins approached the fallen form of the President of the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters, obviously still keeping an eye on the Batarians, more so than the human in the room. There was something to that, Sam was sure, but then again the Khar'shanians were armed, and their race was generally despised by humanity on the whole for a whole slue of reasons. The Non-Com's right hand was resting easily on the pistol grip of her Nexus Lawbringer as it stayed magnetically locked against her armor's chest piece, while the left laid upon the butt of her Hadne-Keder Kessler Pistol. "Not so high-and-mighty when he's drooling on the floor, is he?"

"No." The Marshal replied simply as she created a pair of cuffs for the man, locking the rings behind his back and searching him after he was secured. "By the way he was positioned, I would say that he was meeting these Batarians, but where did they come from? There haven't been any scheduled transportation vessels in the past week. So they were already here, or they come illegally. Neither bode well in my mind."

"Same here." The redhead replied, still keeping a hard eye on the Khar'shanians. "Honestly, I don't see who would put them up, or where they would stay. It's not like No'burg has a hotel chain."

"A good point." No'burg had a common house in the Market for visitors, but it was literally pre-fab beds with simple partitions for privacy. If a Batarian were to stay there, they would quickly be noticed. How they got to Synapps without being seen or discovered was a telling point as well. Everyone else they had seen had been human, and had the look of Therum colonists and workers upon them. They must have come while the work shift was still on and the population in the Bloodsalt District was low, making it easier to ferry a trio of Batarians with a lesser chance of discovery. But that meant that they had been in the club for a good eight to ten hours. Were they scheduled to come here before Dekker came to visit her earlier in the day, or was this something else. Well, that was why they had the Pit; she could sweat out the answers she needed. "Let's get the rest apprehended and searched quickly, and definitely get these four back. I think there's more to this than we realize, and it's better to play it safe."

* * *

Author's Note: _Never Surrender_ completely used and abused, is by Combichrist off of both the _Making Monsters_ album and the _Devil May Cry 2.0_ soundtrack. If you're somewhat into industrial rock/metal, give it a listen. It wasn't easy finding a song that would match what I had in mind; a club, a team of cops, a big push, and a shooting gallery.

To create Synapps without boring you with details never encountered, I mostly thought of the scene from _XXX_ in the beginning with Rammstein, as well as that godawful sequel _Matrix Revelations_. Something in between a warehouse and a gym with a bunch of ravers dancing to dub-step/hard rock. I inserted some futuristic ideas into it, like synthitars, pulse drums, and the fact that the music feels like its coming from your head.

Kinetic energy is important in ballistics, and I had a graph made for the weapons of Mass Effect for potential damage. The formula for muzzle energy is E(k) = m * v(^2), where m = mass (grain or grams), and v = velocity (feet per second or meters per second). Now in ME, bullets are shaved bits of metal from an ammo block, meaning that they are small as hell, so I turned everything into its millimeter conversion, and computed it into grams (thus, an M-4's 5.56 mm becomes a 5.5 gram slug). Now, everything is supposedly fired at small percentages of the speed of light (186,000 mi/sec or 117,000 km/sec) so we'll make that at 0.01c (5.5 * 117,000 m/sec) and you get 643,500 J (Joules). You're standard 9mm hits at just over 500 J and a 5.56x45mm strikes at just under 1,800 J at the muzzle. That's almost 360 times as powerful as an M-4. I just went with 6.5 kJ so it didn't sound like each weapon is firing at something at the equivalent of a stick of dynamite.

 _"Still got some dingoes on a walkabout here. Buckleys on a good nick wit' these boondockers, so keep a peeper out on someone chuckin' a sickie."_ \- (Straine/Australian Slang) Still got a few bay guys moving about. No chance in hell they're in good condition, so keep an eye out on someone faking being sick/knocked out.

Doorkicking - I honestly have no idea how many doors I've kicked in, shot through, or plowed through with my knee or shoulder. Every circumstance comes with different ideas (like, gee, don't shoot a metal door with double-aught buck unless you'd like buckshot in your legs) on how to breach a door. Most interior doors aren't much better than pressboard with cork, and kicking one of those is simplicity itself. Exterior doors, on the other hand, tend to be a good solid wood (pine) that requires a good amount of force to get through. We use to joke about it, saying 'putting your best foot forward' and 'the Western Union telegram'. Breaching a house, btw, is _very_ intensive, and requires a great deal of practice, technique, and (ahem) _testicular fortitude_. To think that cops generally do this solo or in pairs when the military will throw whole squads into it is insane, though cops generally aren't fighting terrorists armed with automatic assault rifles, either. There's easily a good solid dozen theories on 'great' methods, with about another dozen and a half alternatives, such as the Wallknocker (yep, definately put a few holes into walls here), Peeper Tom (the window breach, which I used the smallest guy to throw into a room, one time literally because the window was like five feet up) and Fallen Angels (the roof breach, which a good many Iraqi compounds had a roof access in the city of Baghdad). And clearing rooms at night with NOD's is _fucking intense crazy_ ; I still remember the first time I did that. It's like trying to clear a house with green ghosts in the middle of a haunted house.

Ricochets following walls - I heard this so many times in the military, that rounds impacting a wall will generally angle back at a low angle and 'travel' along walls. Despite ten years and four combat deployments as a Cavalry Scout, I've never seen evidence confirming or denying this theory, though it has some merit to it. Bullets aren't billiard balls, after all.

Controlled pairs - not a double-tap, which is essentially a badly-aimed, poorly-controlled pair of rounds fired in quick succession in which generally the second round will miss target. A controlled pair is _two_ seperate shots in which the first round is fired, the weapon is brought back on target from recoil, and then fired again, putting two into the chest as oppose to one in the chest and shoulder, or one just completely missing. It takes a ton of practice to make a double-tap work at even short ranges for a rifle (25 feet or less) and pistols (10 feet or less) though pistols are generally easier. Don't believe me? Go to a pistol range and squeeze two off and watch one hit somewhere in the center and the other one high and right.

The Buttstroke - getting hit in the face with the buttstock of a rifle hurts like a motherfucker, and there are several methods. I use to teach my guys that the 'full' buttstroke (the Spear strike in which the weapon is held above the shoulders and the barrel is now facing behind you as you strike an opponent with the butt of the stock) is generally a bad idea because you are now flagging your own guys as oppose to having the weapon pointing towards where it deserves; the enemy. The Paddle strike is what I taught; where it is a shoulder shrug motion in which you 'slap' an opponent in the face with the broad portion of the buttstroke, the weapon still oriented against your chest and the barrel pointed towards the ground. This also helps if, by some miracle of Allah or whoever, the other guy manages to get a hand on your weapon; you can still rotate and pull and shoot him in the foot or thigh as oppose to having a weapon over your head and facing the complete wrong direction in which if you lose, the enemy naturally has a weapon already pointing at you. I know this because it's actually happened to me once (during a raid, no less), and the paddlestrike hit the guy, but he managed to get a hand on the buffer tube of my M-4. I twisted my body and put a 5.56 in his knee before he could control my weapon less than a second later. Pistol whipping is equally a pretty bad idea; use your offhand to punch or push to prevent a weapon grab. Doorkicking someone in the chest leaves you off-balanced, and is easily blocked, redirected, or avoided.

And... police work ahead! (Dunn-Dunn!)


	17. Therum, VII

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 16 2175**

 **Warning:** Schmexy. There's will be the schmexy in this upcoming chapter. Rated NSFW (That's Naughty Stuff For Winning, btw) for big-boy language, description, and body parts. If this offends you... you might be a nun?

* * *

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino woke up early in the morning as was her habit, honed by years in the Systems Alliance Navy. For her, getting up at 0430 Zulu was akin to breathing as she got out of her bed, relishing at the thought of being able to have her own accommodations; a luxury in the Navy. Generally, only the Captain of a vessel merited their own personal accommodations, everyone else either having to share a room with a few bodies (for the Officers) or several (for the Non-Coms). If one were enlisted, they didn't even get their own bed, hot bunking sleeper pods and owning a locker for their own personal effects and uniforms. Finding herself in a 'room' that was once a cargo container, split in half in the middle? It was almost as good as owning a house. The other half of the Container, Housing Unit belonged to Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins, in which they both sacrificed some space for a truly special accommodation; their own private bathroom and shower unit. Stacy got up to the usual aches and pains, the joys of getting older having her grumble as she rolled out of bed, seeing Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason still laying in bed as he opened his eyes, looking at her barely covered form. The Australian's eyes graced her figure and gave her a small smile. Even after years of their on-again, off-again relationship, he still had eyes for her.

"Bloody tell the capos t' take a sickie today. We need a day off eventually." Mason groused good-naturedly as he stretched in the bed, skewing the covers to reveal is muscular figure, speaking of a man who hit the gym religiously to not only keep in shape, but ensure he always came in first place in a scrap. Royce had been doing a boxers' regimen for years now, and even at thirty-three years of age, he was not only in his prime, but he could outdo anyone a decade younger at practically any physical activity. The Texan wasn't above checking out the hard planes of Mason's body, seeing the thickness of his pectoral muscles and the rippled abdominal muscles that ran down his stomach, like several river stones set in place. Val wasn't under any illusion that whenever Mason walked by on a ship, half of the female sailors were probably dropping eggs in his honor. How the hell she managed to keep him all to herself after all these years, even when they couldn't be together, was beyond her. Still, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Day... off..." Val murmured, feigning ignorance as she pulled off her sports bra and tossing it into a laundry hamper, moving over to a small dresser to get herself some clean undergarments. "You know, I think I've heard of that theory before, time off. Happens somewhere in between Monday and the collapse of the universe, I think."

"Goin' wonker on me, luv. Age is tellin'." The Australian quipped, and Stacy rounded on him as her ire swelled fast and hard, seeing him smirking as he laid in bed, the covers purposefully kicked off to expose the fact that he had slept in the buff during the night. Both of them had been too exhausted to do anything the previous night, but all it took was one glance to see that Royce certainly had something in mind.

"Royce... Abraham... Mason." The Texan growled all three names as she scowled at him, walking the two steps back to the bed to give the man a piece of her mind, which was diluted by the fact that he was staring at her bared breasts, a shit-eating grin a parsec wide on his broad face. "If you think that saying something like that is going to get you what you're wanting..."

"Nope." The Australian pounced upward, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her on top of him, making her squeal indignantly as she found herself being held close and tight by Royce, her body pressing into his. "This usually works much better, luv." His hands slowly caressed her back as she felt his throbbing erection pressing against the soft skin of her belly, its warmth radiating into her body as she felt him slowly flexing his hips, rubbing his cock against her. Stacy just gave him a half-smirk as she opened her thighs up and scooted a little more upwards, her inner thighs pressing against the front of his legs as her crotch went onto his, feeling his needy member slowly pressing and rubbing against her panty-covered vagina. The feel of his throbbing manhood slowly rubbing into her trench had Stacy's pussy slowly beginning to ache as Royce's hands slid down from her back and down to the meaty part of her ass, cupping it firmly and pressing her hips closer into his as he began to grind his cock into her. "Am I being naughty?"

"Very." Stacy laughed softly as her hands went to the thick cut of muscles on Mason's chest, running her short fingernails down his skin, too light to scratch, but enough to elict a groan of satisfaction from him as Val began to flex her own hips in time with her lovers', pressing her pussy into his erection. "I might have to think of ways to punish you." One of her hands slid down his chest and down past his six pack of abs, her fingers tracing down them lovingly as her fingers went even lower to slip around the thick hard shaft that was currently quite interested in breaching her borderline, guiding into the soft cushiony folds that lead towards her inner-depths. "But that'll wait to later."

"O'course." Royce groaned as his hands slid onto her hips and began guiding her down, and Stacy felt her sensitive walls being pushed against, bending around the hard member that was squeezing its way into her. Any other thought she might have had slowly slipped away as she engulfed her lover, the warmth and sensitivity focusing her on one thing and one thing only as she flexed her thighs and her ass to slowly begin to gyrate into the Australian man's lap.

* * *

Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins woke up to the sound of her room's alarm beeping its dulcimer tones to notify her that it was now 0500 Therum, the northern portion of the planet not having much in the way of time zones due to Nova Yekaterinburg's proximity to the north pole where the heat wasn't as oppressive and the geological activity less severe. Sam pressed a finger towards the button of the alarm as she slowly rose from bed, feeling as if she were put through a wringer and squeezed dry. It had been approximately just after Therum midnight (2818) when Collins had come in with her four collars, the President of the Interplanetary Brotherhood of Teamsters Nico Dekker getting his own special jail cell in the Pit while the three Batarians were sequestered separately in their own cells away from the Teamster. They were awake and cognitive when they were put into their cells, Dekker threatening with promising retributions while the two Batarian bodyguards dragged their feet and made the whole process difficult as hell. The remaining Batarian, the one in the suit, never said a word, though Master Chief Valentino noted that he didn't look particularly perturbed or intimidated, either. Now that it was morning, she would get herself ready to work and being the long, involving process of interrogating her prisoners.

But first, it was time to take a shower, get dressed, and get herself a little breakfast.

The young woman puttered over to the small private bathroom wearing only a night shirt and a pair of panties, the small bathroom consisting of a sink with mirror/cabinet combination, a toilet, and a water closet stall for shower. The lone light in the bathroom turned on as soon as she slid the door open, activating it with the access switch whenever the door was open, and walked into the bathroom, barely enough room to stick her arms out. Still, she didn't have to share a bathroom like some of the Non-Commissioned Officers did, nor did she have to use the communal showers like the lower enlisted. Back when she was just a Deputy, first coming to Therum, she had merited one of the 'shared' CHU's in which a bathroom was situated in the middle, though the other room had remained unoccupied since she was the only female Deputy in the Marshal's Office in Therum. While this one was smaller than the shared one (which consisted of two sinks and toilets, though only one water closet), it did have the luxury of being private.

Sam turned to the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Dark smudges were beginning to lengthen under her lower eyelids, darkening the lower portion of her eye sockets, indicating that she hadn't been sleeping well. Between the longer-than-normal days of Therum, the hard hours she had been putting in with the various investigations to include the Marshal's part in the House of Horrors and the Interplanetary Brotherhood of Teamsters continued existence, and the nightmares she had been suffering since Revan, Sam was at best getting a few hours of interrupted sleep per day. The dreams had mostly consisted of what she had seen in the House of Horrors; the fettered females, comatose and pregnant, and the room filled with dead infants. One or two had been of the men she had shot and killed, and once it was about the Krogan that had almost eaten her. Sam looked upon her own reflection, studying her features, her youthful features staring back. She then lifted the bottom hem of her night shirt, the plain white garment rising up to reveal her trim waist, speckled with small puckered white dimples scattered around her belly button and abdomen. Sam touched one of the dimples, the gunshot scar from the Batarian shotgun a reminder of how close she had come to dying. The scar went inward slightly, perhaps a centimeter, feeling a little rough around the edges. They had all healed over well with no infections, but the dimples would be a long time before disappearing, perhaps never. It wasn't that the gunshot scars bothered her, but the reminder of it did. If it hadn't been for Nihlus Kryik, Tela Vasir, and Jondum Bau, she would have been captured or killed.

"Stop debilitating." Collins admonished her reflection, seeing her eyes wavering slightly in the mirror. "You have things that need doing. You don't have time to go back to that place." The Marshal closed her eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath, as deep as she could hold, her chest expanding to contain the volume as her lungs swelled in her ribs as she let it go as slowly as she could, like a balloon slowly deflating, the burning need of oxygen growing in her limbs and lungs as she continued the practice method she used to help control herself, to force her will over her own mind. The last milliLiters of air were expelled quickly as Sam took a gulping breath to conquer her need for air. She breathed deep to fight off the remnants of the burning feeling as Sam looked at her eyes, seeing that they were steady and true, focused on what she could perceive as oppose to multiple interpretations. No longer was she distracted and trying to pay attention to everything at once; the hum of the lights, the warmth of the bathroom, the smell of soap and disinfectant. She pushed away the thousand signals her brain was trying to bring front and center and focused on what she knew reality to be; the mirror, her reflection, the bathroom. The exercise complete, she continued to get ready for the day. She took a quick shower in the water closet, letting the powerful misting action of the hydrous nozzle wash her clean. Five minutes in the shower, and Collins was stepping out, dried by the airdriers that were installed in the closet, negating the need for towels. She had a set of undergarments prepared for her, which she put on. It didn't take her long to get dressed and ready, running a quick comb through her short, spiky hair before finding a hairband to keep it away from her eyes.

A quick look in the mirror showed that her uniform was on correctly; a white buttoned dress shirt with a black sports jacket over it, complete with a corded bola and silvered brooch and turquoise stone set in the middle. Her black slacks were being held on her narrow hips by the Sam Browne belt with its Kylex holster by her left hip, the Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver hanging heavy in the protective holster. She clipped the Marshal's Badge by the buckle of her belt before donning her Western on, taking a last look at the mirror to be satisfied with what she saw. She knew that a big part of _being_ the part was _looking_ the part, and thankfully she had that going on despite her youth.

She was going to need it, she had an interrogation to conduct.

* * *

The Office was hardly filled when Marshal Sam Collins entered into its confines at around 0530, finding Chief Petty Officer Dan Simmons of the SSV _Charger_ manning the desk as Officer of the Watch. He hadn't participated in the raid on Synops the previous night, and it had been his responsibility to manage the prisoners they had gleaned as well as respond to any activities going down in Nova Yekaterinburg in response to the capture of Interplanetary Brotherhood of Teamsters President Nico Dekker. He was reading through a ExtraNet-connected data pad of an Earth-based social news network for updates when Sam walked in, the Chief Petty Officerl poking up at her when she walked through the front door as it slid open.

"We've gotten some heavy comms traffic within the past ten minutes on the big red phone, Marse." Simmons informed her, referring to the ExtraNet-connected communications device known as the Defense Secured Network Phone, or the DSN line. With it, Collins could get into near-realtime communications with anyone within Earth Alliance Space, as oppose to the light-lag lines of an ExtraNet call. DSN lines were secured with encryption and quite expensive, given priority over almost any other means of communications. If someone was calling, it was important. "Figured you'd be in in a minute or two, otherwise I'd be knocking on your door."

"Thanks, Chief." Sam winced at the thought that the Chief Petty Officer hadn't knocked on her door after the first call. If he hadn't answered it (which he should have), then it could have been anyone calling. Considering she had sent a quick flash-traffic message to the Marshal's Headquarters on Earth and the Ministry of Justice of Nico Dekker's arrest the previous night, she didn't doubt that it would be about the Teamster Presidents' recent incarceration and whatever baboonery some lawyer might come up with. She had also sent pictures and DNA samples of the three Batarians that she had captured as well, related to the unscheduled conference with the crime syndicate leader. She had tentatively booked them with illegal visitation and lack of identification for charges, which would generally get them an express ticket to the Hegemony as well as a decent slap on the wrist. The weapons charges were just an added bonus if someone felt saucy enough to make a stink and earn themselves some real prison time on Phobos. Sam went to her office where the DSN line was located, and scrolled through the holographic screen to see the number that had called her. While it didn't display the name of whom called her, it did display the department.

ONI.

 _Shit… the Office of Naval Intelligence?_ That had Collins pause as she looked at the thirteen digit number with apprehension. She, like every other human being, knew of the ONI. The Office of Naval Intelligence was _THE_ Intelligence community of Earth Alliance Space, and wherever there was a ship, and outpost, or two humans hanging out, there was bound to be someone or some device in place, if one believed scuttlebutt. It was humanity's version of the Citadel Intelligence Agency or the Salarian's Special Task Group, a shadow organization that gathered intelligence and actioned upon it. Getting a call from ONI was akin to a death sentence if one were up to no good.

Then again, she had just captured a very wanted criminal. Perhaps they wished to take Dekker off her hands.

Collins picked up the receiver and typed in the number in question, hearing the device encrypt itself before connecting the Colonial Transmitter, the high-gain high-priority bandwidth being used by the phone as it phone connected to its intended destination less than five seconds later. At a distance of over eight and a half kiloParsecs or twenty-seven and a half thousand light years away, it was certainly impressive technology that Sam didn't begin to understand, and thought safer to not even try to. The receiver by her ear rang exactly twice before being picked up, suggesting that the owner of said phone was already at their desk, and expecting such a call.

" _Assistant Director Skinner."_ Came a male voice, mature and deep, suggesting someone with a good deal many more years that she herself. The title 'Assistant Director' didn't come with a department, which suggested that this was the _actual_ Assistant Director.

"Assistant Director? Marshal Collins, Therum." Sam replied, feeling her stomach do a slow, lazy flip-flop. "I apologize for the delay. The Officer of the Watch doesn't seem to understand answering the DSN line nor getting me with incoming calls." From a Seaman or an Able Seaman, she would have expected this kind of oversight due to inexperience and the fear of picking up an 'important' call. An E-7 with ten years in should have known better. "How can I help you, Director Skinner?"

" _Please tell me you still have him."_ The frank, no-bullshit tone in the man's voice was both thick and insinuating, as if to say _please, backwater cop, don't tell me you fucked this up in the past five minutes_. Sam bit her tongue at the immediate comment or response that pride was about to let loose, good for shoving one's foot in one's mouth. She wasn't about to play that game.

"Yes, sir." Collins replied matter-of-factly, if a little dryly. Well, at least he hadn't commented on her age, or the fact that she was a woman with her job title and description, like a couple of EN-mails from the Ministry of Defense entailed. "We've got two Naval Military Policemen who watch the Pit at all times, and Nico Dekker is still incarcerated at this…"

" _Dekker? No, not him."_ The Assistant Director interrupted her, his tone surprised at the lapse, but not correcting her. He hadn't identified whom he was talking about, and she had just assumed he meant her high-profile capture of the Interplanetary Brotherhood of Teamsters President. _"Congrats on that, but that's not whom I'm talking about. I'm talking about Garm Jor'raddah. You sent his biometric information and photo to the MOJ earlier this morning, hoping for identification when you discovered him in conference with Dekker. You… don't know who I'm talking about, do you?"_

"Looking it up." Collins had fired up her terminal and was already typing in what she suspected to be one of the Batarians that she had captured last night, more than likely the one that looked to be the 'bag man', or the person in charge of a particular party. She had to guess with the spelling of the name as she typed it into an Alliance-oriented Extranet Search Engine and entered it in for results. ONI calling about a captured Batarian did make sense, except the _Assistant Director of ONI_ calling pertaining to an individual implied a great deal, and nothing pleasant. The Search Engine came back with results as quickly as a refreshed Extranet page could load, and the first three result gave Sam a good clue about whom they were talking about.

 _No… fucking… way…_

"Chief Simmons! Get one of the sailors to go get the Master Chief right-fucking- _yesterday_! And personally get eyes on the Batarian in nice clothes and make sure he hasn't chewed his tongue out or is trying to dig out of his cell with his fingernails!" Sam shouted from her desk, not even bothering to put her hand over the receiver of the DSN phone as she clicked on the first Search Engine hit, her heart figuratively almost stopping in her chest as she looked at the next page that came up.

The Alliance Top Ten Most Wanted List. It was supplement with the Citadel's Top Twenty-Five Most Wanted List. And the Thessian Order Of Retribution's List of Wanted Personages. And the Palaven Deathwatch List.

"Holy shit." Collins found herself reading the first couple of lines about Garm Kanador Jor'raddah, also known as Jor'raddah the Jackal, a Khar'shan-born mid-caste Batarian and former Hegemonist Officer of the Special Intervention Unit, the Batarian equivalent of Special Forces. She skipped the bio and went straight to the list of crimes that were described.

Top one? The murder of not one but _two_ Council Agents. This guy had killed SPECTREs. And had evaded others. There was a whole slue of other crimes to include the bombing of an Eezo-processing facility, the bombing of a Turian rookery, an attempted assassination of a _holyfuckingshit!_ Galactic Councillor! The list went on. And on. And on. Bombings. Murders. Assassinations. Attempts of bombings, murders and assassinations. Torture. Arson. Hostage-taking. This guy was literally as bad as they came.

And he was sitting in one of her cells, captured by her.

" _I see you've found the highlights."_ The man's voice on the phone said dryly. Sam looked up to see Chief Simmons peer in through her door, giving her a discreet thumbs up, indicating that the Batarian in question was still breathing and incarcerated, at least. _"That sapient is wanted for the bombing of an Alliance Naval Shipyard, the murder of a Systems Alliance Senator, the bombing of a political party building, as well as a host of other crimes."_

"Yeah, the bombing of an Eezo-processing plant and attempted assassination of a Galactic Councillor definitely stood out, too." Sam was having a difficult time wrapping even her mind around the implications. This guy _topped_ the Asari's hit list for the murder of a well-respected Matriarchal Priestess when he severed her head and mailed it to one of her daughters with a note stuffed in the mouth, as well as the kidnapping for ransom of a daughter of a member of the Thessian Council of Matriarchs. He was number _three_ for the Turians for the bombing of a rookery and crashing a Light Frigate-Class vessel into a Hierarchy Military Space Station, killing hundreds from the explosion and hundreds more from decompression and Eezo radiation poisoning. He was number _four_ on the Citadel's list for the murder of two SPECTREs, the attempt on the Salarian Councillors' life, the murder of over a dozen high-ranking C-Sec Leadership, and the bombing of a popular nightclub in the Kyothi Ward, killing hundreds. He was actually only number seven on the Alliance list for bombing a shipyard that destroyed two Destroyer-Class frames and killing dozens of shipyard workers, and the death of over a hundred when he bombed the Headquarters of the Terra Firma Party.

And he was sitting on one of her cells.

" _We're arranging a pick up of Jor'raddah with a heavy escort within the next seventy-two hours."_ Assistant Director Skinner told her, and honestly Sam was only paying half-an-ear to the ONI Assistant Director as she looked at the list of crimes. She hadn't even reached the bottom yet. _"Keep the prisoner secure and make sure this doesn't get leaked."_

"I… wouldn't hold my breath." Sam frown as she looked into her EN-mail box, and saw was appeared to be _dozens_ of new messages for her from various senders. Some were Asari-related names. Some were Turian-related. Her stomach sank at the sight of so many. She found one with Nihlus Kryik's name on it and she opened that one first.

 _Sam,_

 _Rumor is that you captured the Jackal. We want him. BADLY._

 _Nihlus_

 _P.S. And get ready for a_ s'kak _storm, Big Game Hunter._

"Fuck, they already know." Collins breathed out, not even wanting to look at the rest. She didn't doubt that a few dozen law enforcement agencies and jurisdictions were pretty much messaging her with the same thing that Nihlus had just sent her. The Assistant Director merely grunted on the line. "I'm looking at… over eighty EN-mails from names I can barely pronounce, but mostly Asari and Turian. I think this one's Batarian." That amped up the sick feeling that was developing in her stomach. She could legitimately tell most every other galactic agency that since it was her capture, that it was her responsibility to whom she sent the prisoner to. If she sent Jor'raddah to Earth, no one would think badly for her since she was an Officer of the Law under the Systems Alliance Constitution, and that was her proper superiors. The shitstorm of extradition appeals would simply go towards the Ministry of Justice and the Ministry of Diplomacy as she avoided that silver bullet. She could even message the senders as such and receive no grief from the correspondents as they would be compelled to do the same if their roles were reversed. She didn't doubt that the Systems Alliance or EarthGov would sell Garm to the highest bidder (legally, of course) in the name of diplomacy and goodwill, clawing out concessions and clout in the process. Someone of Jor'raddah's caliber deserved to rot in the hottest, most pressurized Venusian toxic hellhole the galaxy had to offer, and that would now be possible because of her. She had just captured an active terrorist of the highest threat level, having escaped justice for ten years, and gauging by the messages in her EN-box (and more were populating), every legitimate government wanted a piece of the action. Hell, there was probably going to be a trial determining who was going to _try_ him! It was almost ironically funny to think that just about every government in Council Space was going to duke it out seeing who was going to prosecute the Jackal. "I guess the Elcor want this guy, too, looking at this name." She thought it was Elcor; the name was about seventeen letters long and the subject line started with _With Sincerity_. "Can you make it twenty-four hours? Looks like I'm housing a leaking reactor core right now. We just don't have that level of protection if some bloody miter wants to try and rescue him, or… I don't know, the STG wants to make him disappear forever."

" _I'd be there now with a magic carpet if that wasn't our same concern."_ The Assistant Director replied, his tone amused. _"At least you are in a fortified bunker for the most part. Space is a huge vulnerability, and we're literally re-deploying Fourth Fleet for the pick-up."_ Sam's eyes went wide at that one as Master Chief Stacy Valentino walked in, her face curious as to the request while she pointed at her terminal screen first and then mouthed the word ' _ONI_ ' and pointed at her phone. Stacy's eyes got big with that, and then she looked at the terminal. The Non-Com's eyes got even bigger when she saw what was on there.

"Alright, Assistant Director. We'll be on full lockdown. I suggest spinning up someone in the Ministry of Diplomacy to suggest any and all requests to be directed towards them and not me. And no legal snatch-and-grab jobs from Blackwatch members or Council Agents would especially be nice." Collins informed him dryly.

" _Good point. Assistant Director Skinner, out."_ The line went dead as the DSN was cut off. Sam replaced the phone on the cradle and looked to Stacy, who was still looking at the terminal.

"We seriously caught this goon?" The Master Chief asked, her voice somewhere in between awe and anger.

"Yes." Collins replied as she stood up from her chair. "Whatever is the fullest military preparation level you have…"

"ThreatCon Alpha." Valentino supplied, still looking at the terminal with a frown.

"Do it, and then add to it." Sam wasn't about to do this by half-measures. This guy by himself was just about as bad as the House of Horrors. Maybe even more so.

God, she hoped the next seventy-two hours went quietly.

* * *

Author's Note: DSN Lines - A real life system, the Defense Secure Network is the military phone system, which is both encrypted and hardcoded. Don't ask me specifics, because I have no idea how it actually works, and I'm not trying to go to prison figuring it out, either. This is what the Pentagon will use to call in airstrikes to various commands throughout the world if needed. While it's not a 'big red phone', it certainly represents it.

Thirteen digit number - Only in America and Canada is a long-distance phone call eleven digits (1). I believe England is twelve, and some are as many as fifteen.

The Office of Naval Intelligence - A real life intelligence community in America during the Fifties, it has long since been replaced by the DIA, or the Defense Intelligence Agency. I'm liking it more to the _Halo_ series in _ODST_ and _Reach_ where the ONI was _THE_ intelligence agency, like the CIA, DIA, NSA, and the FBI all rolled into one.

Ilyich Ramirez Sanchez, aka "Carlos the Jackal" - Venezuelan-born, KGB-trained mercenary/assassin/terrorist, this guy was _The Terrorist_ for the longest time for a swath of crimes and actions in the Seventies. Not only is his death count from bombs in like the mid-forties, but this guy tried to blow up a _nuclear power plant_ with an RPG. He was captured when the Sudanese Government caved in and had him captured when he was recovering from testicular surgery. A huge face in the Palestinian Liberation Front and a dedicated Marxist-Leninist, this guy was an active terrorist/bomber for something like twenty plus years, only forced to be inactive by governments hiding him, such as Sudan and Syria. He's literally rubbed elbows with Saddam Hussain, and is apparently chummy with Hugo Chavez. Somehow, he's still Goddamn breathing. Because the French lost their Guillotine.

Garm Kanador Jor'raddah - My Mass Effect version of Carlos the Jackal. Also an OC of mine from forever ago, seen in the _Battle of Menae_ , where he is an SIU agent who ends up working alongside Royce Mason and Stacy Valentino to stop the Reapers on Menae, dying while trying to kill a Reaper-turned Yahg I coined a _Behemoth_.

Assistant Director Skinner- You old-school X-Files fans might remember this name.


	18. Therum, VIII

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 19 2175**

Today was the day.

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins stepped into the Marshal's Office of Therum a little earlier than usual, the Zulu Clock stationed on the wall next to the Holovision set that was facing the squad room reading 0407, seeing Petty Officer Second Class James Olsen on the desk, the MP neither tired nor distracted as he watched her come in, his youthful eyes acknowledging her presence as Sam walked through the partitioned lobby towards the squad room where fifteen desks were set up with their separate terminals for Deputies, or in this case Military Police, to accomplish police work such as investigations, cataloging evidence, reviewing cases, and working intelligence. At such an early hour, there were only three people in the squad room to include Chief Olsen, the night time Officer of the Watch. There was to be an early call for several of the Naval Security Team members in less than thirty minutes for an early exchange now that the Systems Alliance Fourth Fleet had arrived early this morning for the prisoner exchange.

Garm Kanador Jor'raddah, known as Jor'raddah the Jackal, was coming to be collected.

"Anything change?" Collins asked Chief Olsen, who had manned the desk for the duration of the night, having awoken her when Fourth Fleet had arrived in Knossos Space in the wee hours of the morning, as he was told to do. Sure, Sam had lost some sleep, but what was about to happen was beyond extremely important, and she didn't wish for the exchange to go without a hitch. The Batarian in question had been languishing in the Pit for the past three days, while Marshal Collins dealt with the repercussions of having Big Game in her zoo, as the cop saying went. Her EN-mail box was full beyond capacity with EN-mails from literally all over the galaxy, from the highest seats of governments to top nefarious organizations. She had received pleas, threats, death threats, bribes, offers of payments, vindictive calls, promises of retribution, and everything in between when it came to the Jackal. It seemed that just about every government in Council Space wanted a piece of the Batarian terrorist, mostly from crimes committed against the state (whichever one applied). There were high-level corporations that were in on it as well, for kidnapping, extortions, blackmails, and bombings committed. There were politicians and political parties that no doubted wanted to cash in to reinforce to their constituents their stance on crime and wave their political flag for their fifteen minutes of fame. There was even a Non-Profit Organization involved for some reason, an Asari-ran business that catered to refugee relief that made no sense to Sam why they would beseech her.

And that was just the legitimate ones.

Astronomical amounts of 'gifts' had been offered in the hopes that Collins would hand over the Jackal to most of those who had beseeched her, to include the Galactic Council (though, she supposed, that one probably made sense, considering). The Turian Government had been offering what appeared to be the possibility of repartitions towards the Shanxi Orphan Foundation, which… implied a lot. The Turians had never devoted a single credit to those whose parents were killed by the Hastism Squads or kinetic strikes, never taking responsibility. The fact that the Hierarchy (and thus probably the Primarch Himself) was entertaining it was saying a great deal. The Council was going to commemorate her in front of the entire galaxy… as if she needed more publicity. The money they offered looked nice, but the fine print made her realize that it was an _annual_ budget for the rest of her life. That had her almost spit out her coffee when she read that. The Order of Retribution, simply know as the Justicars, were stooping to begging, as their order were like monks and having sworn away personal possessions that weren't armor and weapons. The Volus Consortium was going to offer her a stipend that would gain her a percent of a percent of a point of profits from the Elkoss Combine Manufacturing Company. When she did the math in her head based upon their earnings last year, she realized that the Volus by far outstripped the rest of the offers _combined_. Whatever the Jackal had done to piss off the Volus had made the suited Irunians do something many though impossible; be generous.

The Jackal, however, was going straight to Arcturus.

Marshal Sam Collins had gotten a phone call on her DSN line a few days ago from someone that she never thought she would ever talk to, a man who was beyond myth and legend…

" _This is Marshal Collins."_ _The DSN line had rang twice, interrupting Collins from her work, which was really her trying to catalog the plethora of EN-mails she was getting to at least find useful ones that didn't pertain to the Jackal. Doing her actual job right now was next to impossible, and even the grumblings of the miners about Nico Dekker's capture was a far and distant concern, the Interplanetary Brotherhood of Teamsters President somewhere at the very bottom of her list of worries. She'd let him off the hook if she thought he'd fix his act, but she knew better. Dekker had been meeting the Jackal, and she had yet to get a chance to question him as to why yet. Everything was figuratively blowing up, and the IBT President was no longer in her sights. He was in the Pit, and wasn't going anywhere. Sam picked up the phone after it rang, and frowned when the number that popped up didn't come up with a name._

"Marshal? This is Jon Grissom."

 _Sam's mouth literally dropped open at that._

 _To say that Jon Grissom was a hero was putting it mildly. The man's name was literally attached to figures such as Polo, Columbus, and Magellan, and then alongside Gagarin, Armstrong, and Lowell. Grissom commanded the_ Excelsior _, the first vessel to use a Mass Relay, and went on to discover the first dozen systems that became the first extrasolar human colonies and resource exploitation sites. As the Admiral for the Systems Alliance First Fleet, he had led the charge against the Turians in their Occupation of Shanxi, deftly damaging their fleets to a point where they had pulled out for the colony to be liberated. Admiral Grissom had led the Systems Alliance Military until earlier this year, retiring to Elysium, according to the news. But this was Jon Grissom. If he said jump, people automatically jumped as high as they could._

" _Admiral Grissom." Sam replied, her voice a little weak at the thought of talking to a man that most considered the greatest hero to have ever lived. "How may I help you?" She had a good idea what this was about, but it would be rude not to ask, after all._

"Got an update on your situation from Assistant Director Skinner over at ONI, and he clued me in that you're in some choppy seas, Marshal." _The old voice that had always come from Alliance propos and appearing in recruitment drives was a comfort to her. It was hard to be human and not to know or hear Jon Grissom in just about anything, regardless where one happened to be._ "Sounds like you net yourself a big fish, and everyone wants in on the party."

" _That's… putting it mildly, Admiral."_ Is Jon Grissom really calling me to give me advice? _Sam thought to herself, feeling a little woozy at the thought. She'd had a hell of a month, so perhaps it wasn't so unusual. She had stopped the House of Horrors, in which those responsible were still being pillaged by Citadel forces of all kinds throughout the southern galactic arc. She had also canned her boss and almost the entirety of her office resulting in their knowledge of some or all of the Revan House of Horrors. Add to the fact that she nabbed Nico Dekker and Garm Jor'raddah in one fell swoop, Sam guessed she shouldn't be surprised that she had placed herself on the map of VIP's. After such a month, having Jon Grissom give her a call was probably not outside the realm of possibilities. "My EN-box is literally stuffed to the gills with incoming mail, and I'm not even bothering to go through it all. It populates much faster than I can mass delete each page."_

"Welcome to the big leagues, Marshal." _The Admiral replied with a dry chuckle, amusement in his voice. No doubt the former Captain of the_ Excelsior _had dealt with something similar. Perhaps that was why Assistant Director Skinner had him call her; he would know what she was going through._ "Getting flak?"

" _The attempts at bribery and carrots are amusing. Some are rather funny, actually." Geez, she was seriously just_ talking _to Admiral Grissom? Perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. "It's the threats that have me worried. A good number of these people know exactly where I'm at and what I do. I got this one here that says if I don't release the Jackal to their organization, they're going to conduct a Mindoir raid on an unsuspecting Independent human colony. I forwarded that one to the Ministry of Justice and Defense, but…" That hadn't even been the worse one, or the most believable. It seemed that the worst scum of the galaxy somehow knew her EN-mail account and were sending death threats and terroristic threats at an hourly basis, with hundreds of groups and organizations involved. "We don't even top the list on the worst things done when it comes to the Jackal. This guy seriously tried blowing up a nuclear reactor, and did blow up an Eezo processing plant. I want to hand over the Jackal to the Alliance because that's who I work for and it's the right thing to do ultimately, but…"_

"You think of the repercussions of your choice." _The Admiral said softly, his grizzled voice no longer the voice of propos and advertisements, but that of the man whom it represented._ "Lord knows I've sweated those times, too, thinking about what actions will create what consequences. I could probably tell you a thousand times over that whatever happens is not your responsibility or your fault, for it will be the decision and action of others. Chances are, something bad will happen because of this no matter which direction you go. The difference is… what kind of decision do you want to live with?"

" _Even the ones that promise to kidnap and execute humans?" Sam asked, her voice too small, the hand holding the DNS phone almost trembling. That one… that one she believed. There were a few others that were just as terrible, attached to groups that were just as bad as the Jackal. One group, some Separatist group, promised to bomb a human-oriented nightclub during a busy night. Another threatened to execute the human slaves they owned by setting them on fire. A known associate promised to detonate a vessel over a human populous, raining burning debris and spreading Eezo dust and radiation over the population. That one frightened the hell out of her, knowing the implications. Eezo taint was like eighty percent lethal within the first week, and promised cancers and complications that would kill the survivors within a decade or two. Not to mention that the children of such victims would be affected as well. Could she read of such attacks and not feel responsible?_

"In truth… something like that will happen regardless." _Grissom replied, his voice resigned._ "Sometimes someone who vocalized it, but most of the time it will be someone who just takes the opportunity and uses such things as an excuse, just so people will pay attention. Do you think the situation will change if you gave the Jackal to any one of them?"

" _No, I seriously doubt that." Sam knew that to be true. Garm Jor'raddah was just too dangerous to have free. Mother of God, she actually got a full workout dossier from the Office of Naval Intelligence about his crimes, and it had been… absolutely appalling. It almost made her want to go to the Pit and put a round in the Batarian's head just to be on the safe side. But she knew that there would be more consequences that just her losing her badge for such an action. "Some of the bigger governments are tempting, but I don't like the thought of just giving the Jackal off when there's some incentive attached to it. Though some of the offers are rather surprising."_

"Did someone offer to name a moon after you?"

" _Um… I think… yes?" Sam was a little surprised at that, hearing the old man on the other side of the line chuckling. "You too?"_

"About ten years back. Might even be the same moon. _" The Marshal felt her face crack and the beginnings of a smile touched her lips as the shell of worry and fear crumpled slightly. "_ In the end, Marshal, the choices you make are yours, even if the options aren't of your liking. Sometimes we have to make those hard decisions and suffer the consequences despite our misgivings. Heavens know I've made some calls during the FCW and afterwards were there were no good choices to be made, so I had to go with the one I felt was right at the time. That's how I live with it; I look at the time, and see if I did everything to help me make the right decision of the time at the time. Did I gather intelligence? Did my people understand my orders? Was there a course of action that could change the outcome? Don't beat yourself up when you learn different afterwards, because hindsight is a poor friend. You know what you know, and now it's time for you to look in the mirror and choose with what you can live with. _"_

" _I… thank you." Collins replied, feeling her breath coming out with a little relief filling her. Talking to someone that understood such weighty concerns… was a relief. Not that Master Chief Stacy Valentino didn't understand, but the implications were much broader than what the Master-at-Arms of the SSV_ Canberra _had dealt with. Jon Grissom, though? He had probably dealt with something like this a dozen times over. Just having the experience on her side was a comfort. "I still plan on giving Garm to the Alliance because this needs to be handled by the proper authorities, and this is way over my head. It's just… nice to know that my decision isn't one just based on loyalty or trying to pass the buck off on someone else. I just worry about what the transfer will entail and what stupidity will ensue. Even I can feel it in my bones and I'm only nineteen years old."_

"I… actually have a solution for that, if you're willing to bend an ear. _"_

" _I'm listening."_

Members of the NST came into the Marshal's Office as Sam slowly got herself ready for what was to happen in an hour or so, knowing just how important this transfer was. To think that a few days ago, her biggest concern had been Nico Dekker, the crime lord her biggest worry on Therum. She hadn't questioned him like she wanted, knowing that if he had been talking to the likes of Garm Jor'raddah, then the man would either claim up known that there wouldn't be legal immunity enough to save his hide, or he would sell everyone out at the chance to save his own hide. Truthfully… she didn't have the resources or ability to conduct such an interrogation, nor would she be able to do it. It was just wiser for her to pass Dekker along with Jor'raddah for the Global Bureau of Investigations and the Office of Naval Intelligence to deal with. At the very least, she would cut herself off as the middleman for such intelligences and reports, already dealing with a mountain of EN-mails due to the capture of the Jackal. She was going to have to create another EN-box account just to field actual work, but there was a real possibility that one would be overpopulated with junk mail as well. Obviously, so many governments had gotten her EN-mail account in the first place, as well as all the other random organizations and whatnot. As to how that had happened… Sam rather not think about it.

Collins got herself ready for the transfer, dressing in a ballistic bodysuit meant to help protect the wearer in case of suit breeches and seal failures while in combat or in hazardous conditions. Once that was on, she began affixing the pieces of her Hadne-Keder Onyx Armor onto her body, starting with the greaves for her feet and legs and working her way up. The chest piece went on, and then the arms, each piece electrostaticly affixing itself to the ballistic bodysuit before connecting and sealing with the rest of the armor for proper fit and pressurization. In lieu of the helmet, Sam placed her black Western Gentlemen cowboy hat on with its obvious Marshal's Star upon its crown. On her waist went the Sam Browne belt, the Kylex maglock holster strapped to her left thigh, where the Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver was locked into place. Ready, she walked into the squad room where several members of the NST had already begun to gather, armed and armored like she was, though they were wielding Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifles and Hadne-Keder M9 Kessler Pistols as oppose to her heavy-caliber six shooter. The NST were professionals at this sort of thing, and Sam was glad once again to have the MP's at her side, Navy cops that did this kind of thing on a pretty regular basis. Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino and Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason knew the drill like the back of their hands, and this ordeal was going to go like clockwork, something that they had done dozens of times over whenever escorting high-profile prisoners from one spot in Alliance Space to another courtesy of the Systems Alliance Navy because no one wanted to risk a dangerous felon aboard a civilian transporter. They were at the top of their game and the best at what they called 'Con Drops'.

This would be the biggest one they had ever done to date, and the whole thing had been plan down meticulously to a T.

"Any word from Fourth Fleet?" Collins asked Chief Olsen as she stepped out of her office, seeing about half of the team already in the office and ready to go. She only knew who was in charge of the Fleet, Admiral Peluna Shule, but otherwise had never dealt with anything involving Fourth Fleet, only known that they had been involved with the clean-up of the Revan House of Horrors while she had been recovering from a shotgun blast to the belly. Admiral Shule was SSV _Canberra's_ Captain Rhys Lewellyn's ultimate boss, as well as that of SSV _Marco Polo's_ Admiral Stephen Hackett. Sam remember hearing it mentioned on ANN that Fourth Fleet was responsible for the Eastern Verge of the Skyllian Arm. Perhaps she would ask Val about, the Master Chief an expert on all things Navy (and thus probably everything military-oriented).

"We just got a confirmation from the XO of the SSV _Fuji_ , Marse." The Petty Officer called out from his station at the front desk, on top of his role. "They've entered Knossos Space with no extra traffic, and will be in Therum Space in approximately an hour and a half. ETA of pick up is 0635."

"Good." Sam nodded her appreciation as she looked over to Master Chief Valentino, who was already ready. The woman was probably born ready for this. "Master Chief? Let's go get our Very Important Prisoners."

* * *

As far as things went with transfers, things went without a hitch.

Deputy Chad Aaron Gaultier, one of two surviving Deputies of the purge that Marshal Sam Collins had conducted based upon the evidence of Marshal Bartholomew Weather's actions and correspondence with those who were responsible for the House of Horrors, had taken the lead as the twelve-man group moved from the Marshal's Office compound right into the Market Square, the early morning never stopping progress as the early shift of miners were already making their way to the food stalls and cafes for a spot of breakfast before working a back-breaking eighteen hour day. Hundreds of men in rugged clothing meant to survive Therum's hostile conditions and even more hostile mines were looking in the direction of the team of NST's as they walked right through the center part of the Market Square, heading towards the road that would lead them to the Nova Yekaterinburg Spaceport. It took less than a minute for a mass majority of those in the Market Square to see the procession of those dressed in Hadne-Keder Onyx Armor moving four trussed-up men dressed in environmental suits with their helmets blackened out to prevent escape, each of the prisoners being personally escorted by an armed cop. In the lead with a prisoner dressed in what appeared to be an environmental suit made for a Batarian was Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins, a heavy hand cannon in her hand and pointed straight into the back of the prisoner. The next was Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino with a prisoner in a human-oriented environmental suit, a M9 Kessler out and pointing at her own prisoner. Following her was Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, leading another apparent Batarian, Kessler to the back. The final prisoner was being led by Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard, armed with a Glock Safe Arms Model 18C, the barrel pressed into the Batarian's back as he staggered in his environmental suit designed for a Khar'shanian. Surrounding the prisoners and their personal escorts were no less than six Navy MP's, each armed with an Hadne-Keder M500 Storm Shotgun in their hands and M7 Lancers on their chest. Deputy Gaultier was likewise equally armed as he took lead as he had been serving on Therum the longest, while Chief Petty Officer Daniel Paul Simmons took rear guard. Each of the prisoners were trussed up with Omni-cuffs around their wrists, securing their hands behind their backs, while larger Omni-cuffs bound their ankles as well, a longer chain to give them a limited stride for movement while preventing them from moving faster than a shuffling walk.

The Navy MP's even had a name for such a movement; Desolation Row.

The procession was watched by every pair of eyes that stood within the Market Square as eleven Deputies and their Marshal led the four prisoners from the Marshal's Compound towards the obvious direction of the Spaceport, no one needing to be told what was happening. Word-of-mouth had taken care of informing anyone with a pair of ears and brain cells of the raid that had happened four nights before, and the capture of the President of the Interplanetary Brotherhood of Teamsters, Nico Reinhardt Dekker. Seeing a human in an environmental suit with a narrow eye visor meant for a being with only one pair of eyes had everyone guessing who that human was, though the sight of three Batarians with their taller eye visors blackened out to deny their four eyes from being able to see was a mystery to them. Still, the prisoners shuffled, sightless and apprehended, prodded on by their escorts as they trudged their way through the Market Square, taking a few minutes to do so under the scrutiny of miners and Eldfell-Ashland employees, both office workers and security guards. The scrutiny was returned by the flanking Deputies armed with their M500 Shotguns, the threat series and potentially lethal for any who dared to try anything.

They continued from the Market Square and straight into the Maul, the labyrinthine section of No'burg where the Spaceport was located, perhaps the worst-planned action of the colonial town, though thankfully not the worst portion of it. The boulevard that led from the Market Square to the Spaceport was thankfully easily navigated, if a bit crooked at places, some of the Conex-towering housing units not even resting correctly in relation to its brothers above, below, or beside them. The escort continued Desolation Row through the boulevard as more eyes stared at them, the workers of No'burg watching in mute testimony as the silent procession continued, hundreds of eyes watching on as the four apprehended individuals were led through the town, like the tar-and-feathered criminals of old, everyone known whom at least one of the persons was, for most of them their very own worker representative of the Interplanetary Brotherhood of Teamsters. None dare made a move at rescue of President Nico Dekker, not with a gun at his back. The common thought was that the man was prepared for such an eventuality, and had often boasted that he would beat the Alliance in his day of court, promising a spectacle. There was no riot, no rescue attempt, and not one odd laid in the way of protest to stop Desolation Row, each miner watching the silent procession like a funeral, the comparison likely to be apt.

The past several days had been high in tension and crime, though thankfully no fires or riots had occurred. There had been plenty of calls involving assaults, rapes, illegal weapons usage, robberies, muggings, and turf wars. It had even gotten to a point that Marshal Collins had been on the DSN line with Captain Rhys Lewellyn on the possibility of needing the Systems Alliance Marine Corps to help enforce order and law, the nineteen year old woman's heart squeezing in her chest at the thought of letting loose a company-sized element of Lancer-toting Marines upon the populous. She knew what it would entail, and the talk between Marshal and Captain had the Commanding Officer of the SSV _Canberra_ had her expressing that very fear; if that call went out, civilians would die. In the end, the NST were able to restore peace by shutting off the power to Nova Yekaterinburg, plunging the colonial town into darkness until the next morning work shift. The darkness had worked to the NST's advantage; they were able to quell the calls with surprise and clarity, while the populous fumbled in the dark, unable to create much more mayhem. It had gone on for three days and nights, with fights breaking out at the mines, equipment being sabotaged, and threats of a general strike. Eldfell-Ashland Director of Operations Edward Dukakis and Governor Adam Benson had both been advised of the capture of President Dekker and his subsequent removal of Therum, and both had prepared for the inevitable backlash of such an action. Collins had informed them of the events involving Dekker in her office, and his admittance to the corruption of no less than two Marshals, and the mass rape of one Deputy. The EA leadership didn't have to be told that it could easily be any one of their people on Dekker's bankroll… or one of their family members used in such a manner. They were behind Collins in her action against Dekker, especially when she showed them evidence of weapons smuggling and theft of equipment belonging to Eldfell-Ashland.

The snakes in suits had been surprisingly supportive, considering.

Desolation Row continued through the boulevard going from the Market Square and into the Maul, the path lined with haphazardly-placed Conex units, laid out in a chaotic pattern that created drunken alleyways, gaps, a zigzag'ed avenue, and the impression of a slap dashed job. Workers readying themselves for the day's duties or who were already out and about to head towards their intended destinations slowly moved to either side of the path as the team of MP's escorted their cargo through the center of the Maul, not one word said or the least amount of resistance given. For such a rowdy colonial town known for its near-lawlessness and depravity, the streets of the Maul echoed with silence as eyes watched the procession without words, but certainly with emotion. The trash and questionable fluid stains upon the dirt boulevard that raised the seediness of the location did nothing to distract as hundreds watched Desolation Row, the twelve man team moving at a slow walk, the clattering of 3D-printed Omni-forged chains rattling from the prisoners ankles as they walked, led blind by their guards. The shotguns were held out and at the ready, the threat palpable by all those who watched on as cavernous barrels promised the sharp spray of flecked metallic death for those who would dare intervene as pistol barrels were prodded into the backs of the captured, ensuring cooperation.

There was no riot to greet them, no bodies laid in the street to protest them, the normal jeers and ugly looks gone as the Naval Security Team and remaining Marshal Deputy continued on their way, their trained eyes seeing all as they continued their job. The Marshal, prodding the Batarian in front of her, noted the silence, the planet itself seemingly holding its breath in such dramatic times as the near constant hot breeze had died away, leaving the normal stifling feeling of a too-hot day on a greenhouse planet oppressing all not in the presence of air-conditioning. Her Autistic eyes touched everything twice over while her head never moved, her left hand on the shoulder of her quarry as her right carried the heavy pistol that was designed to crack kinetic barriers and armor, not a weapon of last resort. The silence was worse than if someone _had_ done something; a protest, a demonstration, something. It was the calm before the storm, the eye of the hurricane, the golden hour of life before death seized its due. The maddening silence where life should be echoing off the metal canyons of No'burg was worse than the violence. Hate had become a living, breathing beast, raging in a corner waiting to pounce, and it lived in the eyes of everyone who stared at them silently, watching them pass by.

If they only knew.

All of a sudden, the thought made the Marshal remember her Dylan Thomas. And she spoke it to where her Deputies could hear.

" _Do not go gentle into that good night,  
_ _Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
_ _Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

 _Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
_ _Because their words have forked no lightning they  
_ _Do not go gentle into that good night._

 _Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
_ _Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
_ _Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

 _Wild men who taught and sang the sun in flight,  
_ _And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,  
_ _Do not go gentle into that good night._

 _Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
_ _Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
_ _Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

 _And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
_ _Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
_ _Do not go gentle into that good night.  
_ _Rage, rage against the dying of the light."_

"We're here."

Deputy Chad Gaultier's voice alerted everyone to what they already knew as they reached the Nova Yekaterinburg Spaceport, having been able to see it for the past few minutes after exiting the slums and favelas of the Maul, still watched by hundreds, if not thousands of onlookers. The Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps Officers that were stationed to maintain control of the Spaceport, all six of those assigned to external security, watched on as well, armed with Elite Arms CS-18 Rapidstrike Sub-Machine Guns, two manning the entrance that was controlled by a metal man-sized turnstile with the other four were posted as overwatch. None of the EASC Guards came to greet them or take over, and it wasn't expected either. The private security goons were merely content to watch Desolation Row as the Sailors and cops escorted their packages right to the gate, obviously ready for any kind of interference, guards included. They threaded through the spinning turnstile that would only let one person through at a time, metal bars preventing more than one from squeezing in, as well as preventing revolving through to get back out. Deputy Gaultier had taken the lead and went through first, and was followed by Seaman Lawrence Frazier, securing the other side of the compound as each man of the NST and their prisoners were fed through one at a time, the captured person never leaving anyone's presence save for the door itself, fed through by one person on the outside of the compound, and collected immediately afterwards. The process took all of a minute as two remained outside the compound to ensure no one tried to either flank them or take them from the rear in a desperate last-minute grab.

They had arrived at their destination… fashionably late.

A UT-52 Yukon Large Utility Transport Vessel was already on the landing pad of the Spaceport reserved for such small vessels, though the Yukon was almost large enough to take the entirety of the pad itself. It was a sixty-seater Utility Transport Vessel that deployed as many as a section of Systems Alliance Marines, which about half of that number seemed to be securing the landing site itself in an established cordon. Hadne-Keder M7 Lancer Assault Rifles were in the hands of the Marines who had encircled the landing pad, weapons and eyes on any potential external threats for the switch-off that was to occur as a Lieutenant Commander approached the coming squad of NST's with a small group of MP's, each of them ready to accept a prisoner. The Lieutenant Commander recognized who to identify themselves to, seeing the black Western Gentlemen cowboy hat upon the Marshal of Therum. Despite the wash and noise of the still-hovering Yukon, words were exchanged between Lieutenant Commander and Marshal as each of the _Canberra's_ NST's handed over their charges to the MP's from the Fourth Fleet. The LC and the Marshal shook hands at the end of the exchange as the MP's loaded the suited and blinded men, pushing them up the metal gangplank that would lead them into the Utility Transport as the LC nodded to a Marine First Lieutenant, who raised up his first finger and lasso'ed it in the air in a signal to round it up and pull it in. Marines exfill'ed from the landing pad and back onto the UT-52 in pairs as a set of four were left at the base of the ramp as rear security, the last ones to enter into the craft before the Vertical Take-Off and Landing thrusters increased in pitch, noise, temperature, and pressure as the Yukon began to ascend into the air, a pair of Heckler + Koch Medium MG-42 Machine Guns on spinals and mounts guarding the flanks of the spacecraft in side doors, manned by Utility Transport Naval Crewmembers. The Yukon took to the skies of Therum quickly as the twelve member team watched on as the LArge Utility Transport Vessel shrank in size as it headed towards space and the orbiting Fourth Fleet.

Hand-off had been successful.

* * *

Marshal Sam Collins sighed as she began stripping off the pieces of her Hadne-Keder Onyx Armor, taking it off in reverse order from when she had put it on. The gloved gauntlets came off first as the young woman placed them on the extendable armor rack that magnetically held the pieces of armor on it when not in use. Next came the chest piece, complete with cauldrons for the shoulders and gorget for the neck and collar region, which split apart and allowed the user to pull it off over their head like a shirt at the points of the shoulders. After securing the chest piece onto the armor rack, she then went to the faulds, the hip armor in which the cullet posterior armor, codpiece groin armor, the tasset upper leg armor, and the lower leg greaves were all connected, the cinch belt unclasping so that they came off like pants, shimmying them off down her legs. Sam attached the lower armor onto the rack and pressed the button to the Armor Housing Compartment in which the rack was housed, the device taking both rack and armor and closing it within the container. The Marshal typed in a small command to activate the auto wash and buffing cycle to clean and decontaminate her armor, as well as performing a scan for any minor repairs to be made with CeramiGel. Sam stood in her office wearing only her Alliance Navy-borrowed black ballistic bodysuit, the pliable material formfitting upon her subtle curves and lithe body. She plucked at the treated tensile fabric weaved in such a tight pattern as to give without breaking, giving the suit its round resistant properties. It was rated for stopping small caliber pistol rounds, decelerating heavier pistol calibers as much as three-quarters, and able to at least dampen the damage of military-oriented calibers if they went through kinetic barriers and ceramic armor. She hadn't been issued anything like it as a Deputy, having to make do with her Devlon Industries Light Explorer Armor's envirosuit, which its purpose was to protect the user from environmental hazards, not a firefight. Something such as this bodysuit may have prevented her shotgun wound from being so critical back on Revan, if she had had it then.

The Marshal went to her desk where she laid out her uniform for the day; cowboy boots, black slacks, white dress blouse, black sports blazer, bolo and broach, Sam Browne belt, and her Western Gentlemen's hat which she had laid on top when she had taken off her armor. She dressed slowly, letting her Autistic mind wander over the events that she had just gone through for the day as she clothed herself more appropriately for her station, as well as for public. It only took her around ten minutes to finished getting dressed, but in that time, she reviewed the actions that she and the Naval Security Team had taken at least three times over.

As far has she could tell, looking at it figuratively from multiple angles, it had gone perfectly.

A quick check at her terminal showed her that her EN-box had been populated with over seven thousand EN-mails since she had left the Office earlier for the escort, undoubtedly last-minute deals, offers, threats, and whatever else was coming up. Sam snorted as she pressed 'ctrl-A' on her Haptic keyboard when she brought it up, and then struck the 'delete' key, having already created perimeters to send _useful_ EN-mails from the Ministry of Justice, Ministry of Defense, the Marshal's headquarters, Nihlus Kryik, and a few others, to a folder where she could actually do her job instead of spending most of her day having to sift through her poor EN-box. She would probably just have to install a new account and see how long it would be before more junk mail started appearing.

As far as things were concerned, today was a good day.

Marshal Sam Collins exited her office and found herself in the mostly-full squad room of the Marshals' Office, seeing Military Police Officers either at their duty stations, working on terminals or fielding calls, or getting their armor off and preparing themselves for the day. There were desks filled with Non-Coms working the terminals or the phones while the enlisted members were cataloging old cases and trying to reference evidence with other linked cases or calls. Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino was currently having two of the junior enlisted Sailors going through the Weapons Room and doing a quick inventory of the munitions in the Room, something that was the responsibility of the Master-at-Arms, as Sam understood it. She looked over to the Master Chief, who looked back at the Marshal and gave the young woman a slight nod of her head, giving a quick list of expectations to the junior enlisted members as the blonde Texan headed towards the Pit. Sam threaded her way as well, moving towards the Pit as the Master-at-Arms slid a key card into the strip to unlock the door, opening it for the Marshal as she went in, giving the Non-Com a word of thanks as both women let the outer door close before accessing the inner door, the security measure to ensure separation and protection.

The inner steel door opened outward as Sam glanced over to the first cell, its security curtain operational as she looked upon her predecessor, the former-Marshal Bartholomew Weathers. He had been incarcerated in the Pit for nearly ten days, his extradition not being for another three days as the Ministry of Justice complied all the information she had sent for their investigation towards the crimes he had committed. He and the remaining Deputies that had been implicated were still languishing in jail, awaiting their transportation back to Earth for their day in Court.

Well, minus the two that she had subsequently freed due to no involvement… along with four others now gone.

Bart tried to shout at her, his rugged face going beet red as he attempted to verbally abuse her from behind the curtain, though no sound went through the energy barrier. Collins merely shrugged him off as she walked down the Pit, passing her former co-workers whom she had arrested, the five remaining Deputies sitting in their own cells. Some did as Weathers did, trying to garner her attention to tell her how they really felt, but she didn't give them the satisfaction. She walked on past cells now emptied as she went to the back of the Pit.

In the last four cells sat two unidentified Batarian bodyguards, Nico Reinhardt Dekker, and Garm Kanador Jor'raddah.

To her grudging admission of respect, the Batarians said nothing and did nothing, sitting in their cells like animals waiting for a moment of weakness, ready to exploit at a moments' notice. She didn't doubt that even the unknown Khar'shanians were probably quite dangerous if they were set to guard a man of the Jackal's caliber. While it was possible they could just be hired guns or even knowledgeable mercenaries, it could be that they were taught-and-trained Special Intervention Unit Members, Special Operations Soldiers known to exploit military and political targets with paramilitary tactics and devastating consequences. Sam wasn't about to take any chances with any of them. In her mind, each of them deserved something far worse than languishing in the Pit.

"Think the riffraff will buy it?" Stacy asked as she stood by Sam, folding her arms just under her breasts as she eyeballed the prisoners in question, the Pit now the host of the truly despicable in so many different ways.

"We'll have to wait and see." Sam replied, having told Stacy the plan that Admiral Jon Grissom had given them; a bait-and-switch. They had publicly walked what appeared to be three Batarians and a human disguised in race-specific environmental suits towards the shuttle that would take them to Fourth Fleet, which would then fly and jump to multiple systems to confuse and trackers as to where the persons in question were going, be it Benning, Elysium, Terra Nova, Arcturus, or Earth. In reality, the four were actually some of the former Deputies that Sam had once called co-workers, finding a use for the corrupt cops, if only as bait. Only four people knew of the plan itself; Admiral Grissom, Admiral Shule of Fourth Fleet, Marshal Collins, and Master Chief Valentino. It was a ruse to flush any sympathetic towards Dekker and his ilk, as well as those who might attempt rescue of the Jackal. What it really did was give them the opportunity to covertly transport the four in question along with Weathers and the rest during their already scheduled departure in three days, the location out in the Salt Flats past Nova Yekaterinburg, away from prying eyes. That transport was to be a Turian Patrol Bird-of-Prey Frigate that would ensure security and protection, delivering the prisoners to another location; probably to Aphrodite Station above Venus. No doubt a concession was made to let the Turians fondle the Jackal as long as he remained alive, as well as giving them the chance to see him punished for his crimes. Sam didn't want to know. Turians could be an incredibly vindictive lot. Especially when children were involved. "Can't get rid of them soon enough, Val."

"I heard that."

And in the evidence collection room of the Marshal's Office, stored away in a hard lock box for preservation and anti-tampering devices set, an unidentified device about the size of a deck of Skyllian Five cards sat, protected by foam. The evidence log read that it was the device discovered upon Garm Jor'raddah by Marshal Collins, kept safe in the storage room until further notice.

The device activated upon its own, and the red LED indicator in the center began to silently pulse.

* * *

Author's Note: Galaxy's rarest commodity? A generous Volus. Hehehe.

Admiral Jon Grissom was indeed the Commander of the first ship to travel through the Charon Relay (along with Alec Ryder) who later CO'ed First Fleet, especially during the FCW. Despite these accolades… not much else is known of him save that Kaylee Sanders is his daughter. Jon Grissom is based on real-life Astronaut Gus Grissom, Commander of Apollo 1, which met tragedy over fifty years ago. There was a spark in the cabin during a simulation, and back in those days, the atom was 100% oxygen. That plus fire equals really bad, and unfortunately, the three astronauts lost their lives due to the fact that they couldn't open the hatch, delaying the space program for some eighteen months. If that not had happened, we probably would have landed on the moon two years earlier, and it might have been Grissom to have done it. Surprisingly enough, not only is Commander Shepard named after another great Astronaut (legendary Alan Shepard), but Marshal Sam Collins has a namesake, too; Pilot Michael Collins was the pilot of the historic Apollo 11, the one man that _didn't_ walk on the Moon with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin.

Desolation Row - The Bob Dylan song. Though, My Chemical Romance makes one hell of a remake. Funny enough, I was going to call 'the walk' The Black Parade, which is also a My Chemical Romance song.

Dylan Thomas - I guess being a drunk, verbally abusive Welshman can still get you to make some pretty awesome poetry… even if you shout it out on a corner like a madman.

UT-52 Yukon Large Utility Transport Vessel - So I'm likening the shuttles to helicopters; UH (Utility Helicopters) are such vehicles like the UH-1 Iroquois "Huey" of Vietnam, the UH-60 Blackhawk/Seahawk, which carry people and… whatever (hence 'Utility'). CH (Cargo Helicopters) are such vehicles like the CH-47 Chinook, carry people (and, gee… cargo?). There is the OH (Observation Helicopter) like the OH-58 Kiowa, which has electronic equipment (for… observational purposes, of course). There is the AH (Attack Helicopter) like the AH-1 Cobra and AH-64 Apache (guns, rockets, more guns, more rockets… you know… T-Cell Killers). The V-22 Osprey is _not_ a helicopter, but a tilt rotor aircraft; the difference is the stabilizers in the back, where a helicopter has a bladed rotor, while aircraft have a 'sail'. American Helicopters are named after Indian Tribes. For my Mass Effect story, I'm making shuttles like helicopters, and Utilities are named after bears… like the Kodiak. I know that the UT-40 Liberty-Class from  Therum, I doesn't seem to fit this, but I haven't given it an official name yet.

Just so you know, US Marshals are generally the agency that transports prisoners cross-country. Interesting factoid. For Counties, it's Sheriffs, and State Police generally handle the long distance in-state transfers and appearances. Not everyone gets to have the Ride-N-Hide FedWitPro Agency travel in style with blacked-out Escalades… because those are subtle.

MG-42 Machine Guns - Based off the National Socialist (Nazi) German weapon of WWII, the General Purpose Machine Gun MG-42 by manufacturer Mauser Werke is a 7.92x57mm recoil-operated, roller locked machine gun that could fire at 1,200 rounds per minute, making it a high volume suppressive fire weapon. The US Ordinance M60 Machine Gun that the US Army used in Vietnam is based off of this design, as are several others throughout Europe, and it's current American successor, the M240B and its Special Forces equivalent, the Mk 48.

Armor Housing Compartment - It just makes sense that the future would have futuristic armor maintenance bays of some kind for decontamination and cleaning, thus the Armor Housing Compartment. It cleans, it buffs, it shines. Like a carwash for your Aimpoint Ballistic Armor. Because even armor needs some TLC.

Armor Pieces! - From top to bottom; Helmet/Helm, Gorget/Neck, Pauldron/Shoulder, Curiess/Breastplate, Rerebraces/Upper arms, Bracers/Lower Arms, Gauntlets/Hands, Fauld/Hips, Culet/Lower Spine and butt, Codpiece/Groin, Tasset/Upper leg or thigh, Greaves/Shin, Boot/Foot. There are, of course, dozens of names and styles for armor, but I'm keeping it simple with these basic names.

CeramiGel? - Honestly… I've recreated MediGel to be something more than just magical cure-all goop back during the Mass Effect: Battle of Menae story about four years back. OmniGel has the same head-scratching issue; this shit just can't possibly exist. But… you could liquify certain elements and components into a moldable semi-fluid for 3D Printing, manufacturing, and minifacturing. As the Onyx Armor is made of advanced ceramic lattice (current military armor is ceramic plates housed in stiffened Kevlar weave), CeramiGel is the light coating to fix cracks, gaps, and dents from normal wear-and-tear. So MetalGel, MediGel, PlastiGel, and other various 'Gels will come up, as an all-purpose _OmniGel_ is just trite. And worthless.

Bait and Switch! - C'mon, so much build-up without gratification? Jersey… you're killing us here!

Patience, my young Padawans. Wisdom comes to all who wait for it. Like… in the next chapter.


	19. Therum, IX

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

Author's Note: By the end of this chapter, you're going to be pounding at me for the next, I'm sure.

* * *

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins sat down at her desk in the Marshal's Office in the early Therum morning, the approximation of five in the morning for a twenty-eight plus hour day. She had worked a routine for herself since her inception as the Marshal of Therum; coming in to find a quartet of Navy MP's who ran the office as both a Tactical Operations Center and Charge of Quarters for the late evening/early morning hours and getting a back brief of anything of import, making herself a cup of coffee and heading towards her desk to review the inevitable cascade of EN-mails that would be populating her EN-box. She was grateful for the Naval Security Team that helped her run the Marshal's Office, having turned it into a quasi-military role in which it was manned twenty-four/seven (well, actually twenty-eight and a third/seven) with at least one Non-Com in charge of Operations with three sailors to fulfill any necessary duties. Last night had been Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard as the NCOIC with Able Seaman Jesus Hernandez, Seaman Lawrence Frazier, and Seaman Apprentice Katarina "Solo" Solodeneke filling in as her Enlisted personnel. Chief Shepard looked a little surprised to see her walk in at such an hour, but thankfully didn't comment on it. Sam gave her greetings for the morning, amused when Solo jumped up out of habit and shouted 'Officer on Deck!', making everyone chuckle at the E-1, and went to work armed with her coffee and wondering how many EN-mails she would get today.

 _Sam,_ the first message she read (ignoring the ones from the MOJ and MOD for the moment) came from Nihlus Kryik;

 _It has been a busy few days for us here in the Office. We just got finished launching a major offensive against the organization that you stumbled upon on Revan, hitting thirteen similar facilities, four stations, and two private residences throughout Council Space and the borders of the Attican Traverse. We sadly found four more facilities that you humans coined 'baby farms' (we're calling them 'illegal rookeries' for legal purposes) but they were nowhere near the size or finesse of the House of Horrors. I assume that they were either being built up or were just getting underway. All told, we found less than a hundred females in a similar state as the ones on Revan, and thankfully many of them had yet to be actually farmed. A few had been initially impregnated, but without the neonatal drugs that you warned us about. We really lucked out on this one, considering we never would have found these without the intel that you gave us from your former boss._

 _On a side note, that 'Turian Feet' tactic you told me about on Revan really works! We were at a location with about thirty or so Batarian scum, bunkered and ready to fight. There were six of us (Blackwatch plus us) when I suggested replicating what we did back on Revan. Made four Turians and an Asari sound like a company of Hierarchy, and surprisingly the Batarians decided to surrender. After we apprehended them, the leader, and SIU Operative by the name of Golek, asked where the rest of my troops were. I told him we used a human tactic to force a deceptive surrender. He was not amused. Tela teased him until he decided to insult her. She slapped him with enough biokinetic force to break his jaw. He wasn't so chatty after that._

 _Relief efforts have finally finished up over Revan a few days back, and I heard that the Hierarchy Fleet stationed above the planet glassed the site with kinetic strikes once everyone and everything had been pulled out. I know that the hatchlings and females in question have been returned to their respective species and governments, but I imagine that the aftermath of Revan will be felt for years to come, especially considering how long Asari live. CNN and Hierarchy News Net have been keeping the situation updated pretty regularly, and at a fairly accurate level. Some details weren't released to the public (like that one room we found) to keep things under control. The Council and the Office agreed we didn't need anyone jumping to incorrect conclusions and starting a war off of bad information or no information. I know you were pretty worried that humanity might 'take the rap(?)' for Revan being in your backyard and the involvement of one of your Marshals, but that situation is fully under control. Honestly, we've captured others in positions that were worse than Marshal Weathers. Worse as in higher authority, and more involved. We came to find out that a Colonial Primarch was supplying Turian females to the organization that has been coined 'the Trail of Tears' after what one of your Marines called it during operations in Revan. It's an apt moniker, and too true. Now that operations in the Thermopile System have been suspended and most all forces have left the Cluster, we're now sifting through the pieces to get to the extent of the operation. I imagine a good many that were a part of this evil are probably wondering why so many of their associates just went quiet. I doubt we'll get them all, but I think we've done well in cutting the head off of the thresher maw. It is as you said; we got to the upper echelons of the meritocracy, and perhaps even the very heads of it._

 _Those at the top who are still breathing are trying to make pleas in exchange for information. Some mid-meritocracy enforcers and such might be considered, but bosses and such are going to be enjoying the mercies of many a court circuit. Can you believe that some of those captured have engaged their Embassies on behalf of the Council, lobbying to be tried in particular governments? No one is looking forward to what the Dekunnan Confederacy or the Palavenian Hierarchy will do to them when convicted. As I understand it, the Systems Alliance Ministry of Justice is accepting no plea-bargaining, and will be shipping those who confess fully to some place that isn't Venus? Spirits, you have a prison planet? I looked up the planetary characteristics and Dear Spirits! Think we can rent out your planet? Butcher's Bay isn't nearly so hostile._

 _You've garnered a bit of a reputation in the Home Office here. Tela placed a bet on your behalf on closest Krogan kill, daring a few to come up with proof of one closer than a knife kill. I suggested she give the proceeds to you, considering. A week later, and no one's come up with a better one, past or present. Khal Burram, our resident Krogan, is really looking forward to meeting you. I'm not too sure if that's a good thing or not. We're still working out the details and such with the Human Ambassador about having you come to the Citadel under some kind of cover operation. She's rather elated, considering how much squawking Humanity has made about having a little more role in the scheme of things. As I understand it, some EarthGov representative was rather forceful on the issue as to why 'they' couldn't pick a 'candidate' (which shows that he has no idea what he is talking about). Doyle was appropriately dismissive of the man and had him ejected from the meeting when he didn't get his way and began mewling like a hatchling. Ambassador Anita Doyle has some stiffness in her plates, that's for sure._

 _When things are a little calmer in a couple of months and you're not beating off a barbaric horde of miners, prepare yourself for a move. Tela picked out an apartment for you nearby somewhere, and all I have to say is thank the Spirits her cover isn't interior decorations. The color scheme looked like someone beat a varren to death in it, and the furniture was definitely on par for that of an Asari Maiden. I somehow don't think you need a melding couch. Jondum suggested a Human contractor that would actually understand Human Beings instead of some Asari meldnest._

 _Tela cares, but she_ is _a Maiden._

 _We'll keep you abreast of any further developments pertaining to the Trail of Tears and your living accommodations, as well as any antics Vasir comes up with. Fully expect her to drag you into every club on the Citadel on your first day._

 _And as for the Jackal (sorry for the quick OmniTool message, but I was in the middle of ops) you ultimately made the right choice. As I understand it, you literally were offered the moon, along with everything else. You could have given him to anyone, but your decision was sound. Spirits know I wouldn't trust taking him anywhere else but the Juris Primacy Circuit for a quick beheading, but at least everyone will get to watch him pay. Good work on that._

 _Nihlus_

 _Note: "Anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice; bullets are cheap, you aren't." - Serinus Kalpanus_

Sam snorted after reading the EN-mail from Nihlus, and responded appropriately, telling him about her previous day as Marshal. They had been corresponding back and for things she arrived on Therum, trading intel, news, jokes, and things going on. Now that she had finished collecting all the data from former Marshal Bartholomew Weathers' terminal and Stand-Alone Complex, she had sent all information to the Ministry of Justice for prosecution, his pick-up scheduled for the next day along with the remaining Deputies, Nico Dekker, two more Batarians, and Garm Jor'raddah. All told, only two had escaped all criminal charges due to ignorance of what was going on in the Marshal's Office in Therum. Those two Deputies, Mark O'Brian and Chad Gaultier, had been fully reinstated back into active duty with a full apology from herself. Thankfully, both had completely understood; Sam had no idea who was involved, and arresting everyone for the sakes of the investigation had been the smart move. It gave her two more people working the Office. The Prosecutor General of Terra, Kay Nehm, was positively giddy at the thought of the upcoming case. The House of Horrors and the capture of the Jackal were being swept up in a media firestorm, and Prosecutor Nehm saw it as both an opportunity to show that Earth wasn't about to let such things be so easily dismissed, and get her face plastered all over the news. Someone was going to be gunning for the top seat, Collins thought to herself as she went to opening up the EN-mail sent to her from the Ministry of Justice, from the Director of Marshal Services, no less.

She clicked on the link, and frowned when it didn't open.

Sam tried a few of the other messages, many of them from the Ministry of Defense or Justice, but none of them would open. She even tried deleting the spam-mail, but her EN-box wouldn't refresh. She looked at the message that she had sent to Nihlus, and saw that it had been sent through, but nothing else was happening. That was damn odd. Knossos wasn't known for its solar storms or radiation output that would interfere with tight-beam FTL communications through the EN-comms buoys that worked through the Relay. The Marshal stood from her desk and walked out of her office, and looked to the holovision monitor that was placed in the lobby, tuned into Alliance News Network for updates and a pulse how things were going on Earth and in Arcturus. She looked at the monitor and saw the news anchorwoman who gave the highlights was frozen in time, her face in the middle of talking, looking as if she were in the middle of a sneeze. That... wasn't usual.

"How long as ANN been down?" Sam asked Chief Shepard, who looked up from her own terminal at the front desk, tapping at something on the Haptic keyboard incessantly.

"A minute or two, I think." The Petty Officer replied, the redhead frowning. "I'm running a diagnostic on the colonial transmitter. Perhaps one of the asshole miners got smart and cut our fiber-optic cable." Sam knew that wouldn't be possible; the colonial transmitter was located in the Eldfell-Ashland Compound, and the line was buried just to avoid that situation. Besides, the Marshal's Compound butted the Government Compound, which butted the EA Compound. There was literally nowhere for a saboteur to dig without breaking into one of three compounds to dig up two or so meters deep to accomplish the task. "Huh. We've got connectivity with the transmitter. And it is broadcasting to the colony's satellite array. Solar interference?" Shepard asked, turning to the Marshal.

"Knossos has a eighty-seven year rotation, and we're actually approaching the low peak." Sam replied, remembering it from her orientation when she had first been assigned to Therum. "If it isn't the transmitter, and it isn't the satellite..."

"...then it's the comms buoy." Jane finished, looking bothered. "SOP for engagements is to disable comms buoys to take away the ability to call for reinforcements."

"Wouldn't that deny an enemy the same ability?" Collins asked the Non-Com, curious. She didn't know military procedures, and she wasn't above asking when she had a fount of knowledge right in front of her.

"You would set up a dedicated comms buoy, encrypted with communication protocols to ensure that you have connectivity to the li-fi relay network while denying your enemies the same access. At least, that's what _we_ do." The Petty Officer replied, frowning. "Marshal? The first sign that anything was wrong on Mindoir was the loss of transmission and communication with the ExtraNet light-fidelity network."

"You were on..." Sam stopped asking the question, not wishing to bring up what was probably a horrible event of Chief Shepard's past. The Petty Officer wouldn't have brought up that tidbit if she _hadn't_ been there, and with all that it implied. She knew of Mindoir; the raid and reaving of the main colony's population, some thirty percent of its people captured for enslavement while defenders were purposefully crippled to expend medical aid and tie up responding forces. That was a story best left buried unless Jane wanted to talk about it. Sam knew all too well that pain.

"Frazier, go to Master Chief's door and give a good knock." Collins told the Seaman, who had been working on one of the Deputy terminals, cataloging old cases for any kind of movement on them or relatable intelligence that could be used against the on-going workings of the 'Teamsters Union' that was the cornerstone of the black-market of Nova Yekaterinburg and the brains behind the minor gangs and extortion racket interlaced through the districts of No'burg. Something else that Marshal Weathers hadn't stuck upon with aplomb. It looked as if he had been accepting graft to let certain contraband items through supply ships. That was her big bad wolf these days, but Sam pushed the thought aside as she went to her office where her DSN phone was while Seaman Frazier left the Office to go to the CHU's to wake up Master Chief Valentino. The Marshal picked up the Defense Secured Network phone and dialed a number that would connect her to a point in space, seeing that Chief Shepard had followed her, frowning. Well, if there were military-related acronyms and procedures she didn't know, the Petty Officer would be handy to have to ask questions. The phone connected to the colony transmitter and shot the signal to the colony satellite array up in space via tight-beam transmission. The array then redirected her call to the point in question after the handshake was complete, the carrier-signal complete when transmission/reception was integrated. This took all of a second as the desk phone rang by her ear.

 _"SSV_ Canberra _Officer of the Watch van de Mere_." A male voice came in through the phone, slightly distorted due to the light-lag. Collins realized she had no idea about any of the other crew members of the _Canberra_ save for Captain Rhys Llewellyn. The name 'van de Mere' didn't mean anything to her, nor did it come with rank. She assumed he was a Commissioned Officer, probably a Lieutenant. Officer of the Watch was in charge of a ship during the night cycles, and had complete authority in performance of such duties, as she understood it.

"Lieutenant van de Mere? Marshal Collins, Therum." She had no idea what the procedure was, so Sam was just going to have to make due. "We've experienced a loss of ExtraNet connectivity on the colony. Colony transmitter's up and running, and satellite relay is sending fine." She watched as Chief Shepard pulled out a datapad and was scribbling something with a stylus while she was talking. The Petty Officer finished writing and flipped the datapad over to show Collins what she had put on the touch-sensitive screen. "Pursuant of SAN Regulation 34-300, any unidentified loss of fidelity network is to be explored and investigated upon discovery to determine cause of loss, which is a CCIR." Sam had no idea what that last portion meant. Military acronyms were a Credit a dozen. There was silence on the line for a moment. "Lieutenant? Did you get my message?"

 _"Yes, ma'am."_ The Lieutenant finally responded after a moment, the voice... grudging. _"We'll go check it out."_ The line disconnected.

"Huh." Collins looked at the phone for a moment, a little disappointed. It didn't exactly sound like the Lieutenant was jumping up and doing his job. "Know Lieutenant van de Mere?" She asked Chief Shepard.

"I think he works in Engineering. Or the RC." The Petty Officer frowned for a second. "Carrier's a big vessel, and MP's don't... ah, exactly get friendly with the crew, if you catch my drift." That, that made sense. Limiting fraternization among the crew meant a Police Officer didn't have to deal with the drama of having to possibly arrest or manhandle a friend. That wasn't different from being a Deputy. "Master Chief Val would know."

"Probably should have checked to see what it was ship time." It was only 0552 for them.

"0347." Jane replied immediately after checking her Omnitool, which brought up only a small square with a series of chronometers displayed. "But that's regardless. That's why we have Officers of the Watch, CIR's, and CCIR's... and you have no idea what I said."

"When to knock on someone's door when shit gets real?" Sam replied with a lopsided grin, getting the Petty Officer to chuckle.

"You might not be military, but you're nobody's fool, Marshal." The Petty Officer replied with a crooked smile. "Have the Master Chief give the call when she gets in. She can ream ass like it's nobody's business. And..." Jane's face fell a little, looking pained as Sam watched the redhead's face grow stormy. "You made the right call, I think. I've always wondered..." She shook her head, obviously banishing whatever she was thinking about. Collins didn't need to guess long to wonder what Chief Shepard might be thinking; what did the Mindoirians do at the offset? Jane wasn't much older than she, and Mindoir was about five years before. A teenaged girl fleeing for her life? One of the lucky ones that were overlooked? Captured and interred like so many, subjected to abuses and torture? It would explain why the woman went into the military.

God, she hoped they were wrong.

* * *

Author's Note: You know when you kick the hornets' nest, you get to deal with the repercussions.

Sam kicked the nest. Here comes the repercussions.

Hang on there. As Sam said; shit's about to get real. And I can make shit real. You read the 'Revan Arc', right?

* * *

 **Lagrange Point One, Therum Space, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

Captain Rhys Llewellyn arrived in the CIC of the SSV _Canberra_ , having been contacted a few moments before by the standing Officer of the Watch, Ensign Rickard van de Mere having called him with a CCIR. The loss of fidelity was normally not of a worrying note when it came to Fleet operations, as moving through space came with its set of circumstances whenever vessels were patrolling or stationed throughout a system. Planets moved, comets disrupted transmissions, solar flares or winds were always a concern, and there was always the star in question that was generally the largest obstacle for connectivity. The Systems Alliance Military had long ago learned how to counter such problems; temporary comms buoys and retrans stations, high-gain signal interceptors and the like. Loss of communication on a ship was a fairly frequent thing when traveling or moving positions.

Planets were something else all together.

Even the crummiest of colonies vied for ExtraNet connection. This wasn't so some local rube could watch the latest ECUU match or cruise the EN for a wide variety of pornography. A colony with ExtraNet meant that many issues could be dealt with; an order for supplies, incoming transportation for personnel, calls to the military when emergencies arose, banking accounts for fiscal endeavors... the works. The galaxy ran off the ExtraNet, and many a business and corporation that set up colonies and outposts for their profit-making schemes shelled top dollar to make sure that even the shittiest rathole had ExtraNet connection even in unusual circumstances.

Mindoir had been the learning lesson as to why.

Rhys had been a Lieutenant Commander in charge of the Ops Alley for the SSV _Walter Reed_ when the hospital ship arrived once word had finally reached the Systems Alliance that there had been an attack. It took over a week for the distress signal to be received because the first thing that had been hit was the Magellan System's ExtraNet li-fi communications buoy; what sent and received information and signal through the Mass Relay or other data collection points. Because of this, the emergency call that was sent out once Batarians darkened their skies had been tight-beamed to the next nearest comms buoy in the center of the Voyager Cluster Nebula before it was finally sent tight-beam FTL to the next point in the Columbia System, where the Mass Relay was located nearby. It had taken over six days for the signal to arrive at Systems Alliance High Command, and by the time the first ship had been sent to the colony's aid, the worst had already happened; atrocities that plagued the mind and sickened the soul. The Captain remembered well the look of the survivors that they pulled from the interment camps, the faces of those with families reaved and horrors suffered.

Never again. Never again.

"Ensign? Status update." Captain Llewellyn spoke up as he entered the CIC, seeing the minimal amount of Operations-oriented personnel at their stations at such an early hour ship time. A CCIR had been reported, and now he was going to assess the appropriate response.

"A call from the colony, sir." Ensign van de Mere replied, saluting the Captain as he reported, dropping the salute when Rhys returned it. "They reported that they were experiencing a loss of conductivity, though they diagnosed that their transmitter and array were fully operational."

"They would be if they had called you." Llewellyn replied dryly. Rickard was a recent graduate of the Naval Academy in London, and like all brand-new Ensigns, were pretty much overpaid Seamen Apprentices. He couldn't hold their hands or coddle them, otherwise they would never learn on how to make decisions on their own. Unfortunately, a certain percentage of them were more trying than others. "Who made the call?" It was about 0600 in Nova Yekaterinburg, according to his Omnitool's chronometer. That call wasn't made by some Eldfell-Ashland exec puke trying to screw over a percentage of humanity for profit, pissy because he couldn't check his stocks. Too early in the morning.

"Marshal of Therum." The Ensign replied in a rather casual manner. "Then she rattled off a Navy Regulation to me..."

"34-300." Llewellyn replied immediately, nodding. Either she knew it and used it on the Officer of the Watch, or one of the Non-Coms spoon-fed it to her. Either way, they had identified the problem and contacted the _Canberra_ with a loss of fidelity call. It was the right decision. "Ensign, go get me the CAC and have him wake up five of his CAPs and meet me up here ASAP." Van de Mere's face went a little shocked as the Captain asked for the Combat Air Commander and another five Squadron Fighters. " _Now_ , Ensign."

"Aye aye, Skipper!" Ensign van de Mere practically knocked himself out with his salute it came so fast, practically bouncing out of the CIC to locate Lieutenant Commander Varsh. Rhys frowned at the thought of the Ensign's inexperience, and pushed it out of his mind. Loss of fidelity was an important event, but if the worst was to occur... then it already happened. A few minutes wouldn't make a difference. The Captain of the _Canberra_ went to the DSN phone and punched in the code of the last contact. It took a moment for it to connect and ring through.

 _"Marshal's Office. Marshal Collins."_

"Marshal, this is _Canberra_ Actual." Rhys began, remembering the young woman he had known for approximately twenty minutes, fifteen of them being a briefing with the Fleet Commander, Captain Steven Hackett. She had made an impression on him, mostly do her youth and the fact that she somehow cleared a full-fledged slaver camp. She had brass ones, at least. "We're investigating the loss of fidelity network at this time. Let the Master-at-Arms know I'm spinning up a CAP to investigate. She'll explain how that works."

 _"Well, I've got my finger on the Colonial Alert Broadcast System. Just in case."_ Rhys grunted at that. Probably too forward, but at least the Marshal was taking it seriously. _"How soon before we know anything?"_

"We're about twenty-five AU's away from the Relay." The Captain replied. "Even at luminal speeds, that's..."

 _"Just over three hours."_ The Marshal replied, surprising Llewellyn. Light traveled at almost three hundred thousand kilometers a second, meaning it could traverse an astronomical unit in about eight minutes. She had either calculated that before, but no, she had asked. She had done it in her head. Not bad. _"Okay. I guess waiting it is."_

"Captain? I'm getting readings on the LADAR." One of the Ops Alley screenwatchers called out, his tone a little surprised. Rhys looked over to the Ops Alley where the sailor was stationed. "Detections from extreme distances. One AU plus, lots of distortion, no firm designations or descriptions."

"Ping it." The Captain replied, ordering up a wide-arc LADAR Ping. Reminiscent to old sonar during the days of submersible boats, the LADAR Ping was a tight-beam pulse of radiation with a known half-life decay rate that was shot out in a one hundred and twenty-degree arc. The purpose of it was to investigate any signatures that appeared on one of the many monitoring devices that a vessel used to identify ships out in the black. LADAR detected light emissions, blue- or red-shift, as vessel traveling at luminal velocities would appear in the blackness of space as a light emission. It was too far of a signal to pick up on thermal detection equipment, and too far to intercept any IFF radio beacons. A LADAR Ping would give them at least an idea what was out there, at the cost of announcing to whomever it was that _someone_ knew that they were out there. It eliminated the element of surprise on both sides.

"Pinging." The Ops Alley sailor replied as he pushed the button marked 'PING' as a silent wave of long-wave radiation was blasted out into space, sent out at faster-than-light speed, waiting for the return response. "Estimated time of return two plus minutes, Captain." The screenwatcher informed him. The wavelength was designed to be so that it could go an AU in a minute, and return back at the same time. It would give them a fuzzy but decent picture of what might be out there beyond their normal detection radius.

 _"I don't envy your job."_ Oh, the phone was still at his ear, the Marshal speaking to him. He had forgotten about that when the Ops Alley sailor had spoken up. No need to hang up on her now when he was about to get an idea what was going on. _"I've got the Master Chief here now, and I'm filling her in."_

"Good." Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino was a Shanxi Vet and hardass extraordinaire. If this were going to be a debacle, then having her on the ground would be a good thing to keep things in order. He briefly wondered if he should have the Marines spun up and ready to shuttle down to Therum. A bunch of Jarheads in a Navy fight was about as useful as a Krogan condom.

"Getting return, Captain!" The screenwatcher called out, the sailor looking at the screen interface to depict what the LADAR Ping returned. "Populating... oh my God..." The young man turned to look at Captain Llewellyn, the color rapidly draining from his face. "It looks like a massive Fleet deployment!"

"On screen." Rhys ordered, looking to his command monitor on the CIC board, seeing the view shift to what the Radar Technician's Mate was seeing. The view populated with many bogies, much more than a standard Fleet size. His eyes studied the readings for about half-a-minute, seeing the partial outlines from where the radiation pulse had hit a solid object and returned back. It wasn't perfect, but it gave him an idea of what he was looking at.

At least one _Capital_ -Class Dreadnaught, and several smaller-scaled Battleships. Only one species in the galaxy used Battleships.

"Set Fleet Condition Red Alpha!" Captain Rhys Llewellyn bellowed, his voice loud, commanding. The navigator that worked on the opposite side of the CIC looked at him with widened eyes as he grabbed the 1MC phone and turned it on.

"RED ALPHA, RED ALPHA, RED ALPHA. ALL HANDS, REPORT BATTLE STATIONS." The navigator enunciated loud and clear into the 1 Main Circuit that was transmitted not only through the SSV _Canberra_ , but also Battle Group _Moctezuma_. "I REPEAT, RED ALPHA, RED ALPHA, RED ALPHA. ALL HANDS, REPORT TO BATTLE STATIONS. MARINE ELEMENTS REPORT TO DEPLOYMENT BAYS FOR CAST-OFF. SQUADRON FIGHTERS REPORT TO DECK FOR IMMEDIATE TAKE-OFF." The 1MC was returned to its cradle as the navigator looked at the holographic map as it was updated with LADAR readings.

The map populated with over fifty designations in red with recognition marks. _Batarian_.

 _"It's really happening, isn't it? What we feared?"_ That was Collins, still on the other line.

"Yes." Llewellyn replied matter-of-factly as he kept his eyes on the fleets' composition. "A singular _Capital_ -Class Dreadnaught, measuring over nine hundred meters. Four _Malathka_ -Class Battleships, each ranging at about seven-hundred and fifty-meters." _Malathka_ -Class Battleships were the Batarian's response to the human-made Carrier-Class Ship, basically a light Dreadnaught that didn't violate the Treaty of Farixen. "Ten Cruisers, fifteen Destroyers, approximately twenty Frigates." Battle Group _Moctezuma_ consisted of a _York_ -Class Heavy Cruiser, measuring at seven hundred and seven meters, and a _Berlin_ -Class Light Cruiser, the SSV _Seoul_ measuring in at six hundred and fifty meters. After that, they had four Destroyers, eight Frigates, and ten Corvettes.

In other words, Battle Group _Moctezuma_ was fucked.

"Fleet's moving into intercept course!" The Radar Technician's Mate called out, his voice wavering. "Half-impulse speed." That had the Captain grunt. Batarians weren't moving in for the kill outright. They were drawing it out, toying with an inferior opponent. They wanted to see what he would do. Cut-and-run? Duke it out? Or... something else? That gave them at least sixteen minutes until engagement.

"ETA until Marine deployment and fighter takeoff?" Llewellyn asked the navigator, who had the status screen on his console, taking over the duties for the XO, who was currently in the Med Bay with a gastrointestinal issue.

"Approximately five minutes, sir." The navigator responded. "Should... we include the rest of the NST's?" That had the Captain grunt. During a Navy battle, MP's often just helped out with immediate repairs and such, filling in vacancies if they could. Otherwise they were just about as useful as the Marines.

"Empty the armories and have them stuff the UT-40's with as much weapons and ordinance that they can." _Canberra_ Actual replied, thinking it through. The space battle wasn't going to go well at all. He'd either have to ditch system and leave Therum to the Batarian's less-than-tender mercies, or last about one minute fighting a fleet twice his numbers and almost three times his weight. "Give me _Charger_ Actual." The navigator nodded as Captain Llewellyn returned to the phone on his ear. "Marshal, I'm going to buy you time. Stay on the phone so you know what's about to happen."

 _"Okay."_

 _"This is_ Charger _Actual."_ Lieutenant Commander Patrick Sullivan came over the loudspeaker set above the CIC, usually meant for the Fighter Squadron so they could listen in on the bridge without having to ask for a status report every five seconds. _"Go ahead."_

"Patrick, I'm going to need you to evacuate the _Charger_ , and plot a predesignated FTL plot jump into the Batarian line." Llewellyn commanded, watching as his navigator went as pale as snow.

 _"We're going to need to leave some key personnel to make that happen."_ The LC replied a moment later, thinking it through. _"Turning the_ Charger _into a missile could probably kill the Dreadnaught that's on the LADAR, but you're still going to be facing more than enough to wipe out_ Moctezuma _."_

"No worries. I've got a plan." He returned his attention to the navigator. "Tell all ships to raise shields and ready their heaviest missiles and set for max distance. Predesignate targets and mark them for zero range." That meant that a missile would explode upon contact, instead of trying to penetrate a ships' hull or kinetic defense field. It also meant that it wouldn't bounce off if the distance weren't gauged correctly. "Prepare to launch. How long to evac the _Charger_ , Sully?"

 _"Sixty seconds."_ The Lieutenant Commander replied, matter-of-factly. _"I can redirect all operations to the bridge. My Chief of Engineering has already set the engine, and my navigator is ready to plot. Dreadnaught?"_

"Yes."

 _"ETA, ninety seconds."_

"Captain, Battle Group commanders reports fish loaded and ready." The navigator announced, looking at the green fields populating his fleet status screen.

"Launch when the _Charger_ hits sixty before FTL." Rhys commanded, nodding, his mind whirling. What he was about to do was illegal as hell, never been done before, and honestly a roll of the dice. There was a reason no one FTL'ed in-system; too much debris, and the envelope created wasn't sufficient enough to push anything out of the way more than a few hundred kilograms. Slamming a Corvette-Class ship like a missile into a Dreadnaught would have certain effects, though. First, it would be a one hundred and thirty-two meter Mass Effect-driven missile massing in at over a thousand metric tons. Second, the ships' engine would go catastrophic, creating a matter/anti-matter collusion event sparked by Eezo-destabilization, creating the equivalent of a two hundred and fifty megaton bomb. Third, the radiation from the Eezo would play havoc with everyone's sensors, blinding everyone for at least a five minute timeframe, and even longer for the Batarians, who were nearer to the epicenter. It might be possible that the Dreadnaught would be destroyed with the collision, though it was more likely that it would be permanently out-of-commission, which was good enough. But the true genius of the plan would be the spread of missiles that he would be using right when the Batarians' sensors were haywire and their shields were down from the result of the attack.

It was nasty, but no more than what the Batarians deserved.

 _"Sixty seconds before FTL spin-up in ten... nine... eight..."_ LC Sullivan's voice rang out through the CIC, Rhys looking at the map as the Batarians pulled inexorably closer. That's right boys, slow and steady... _"...two... one... mark!"_

"Launch."

From twenty-four ships came a spread of Minuteman missiles, anti-matter bottled-tipped warheads attached as the Heavy Helium-propelled 'fish' were launched in full fuselage, known colloquially as a broadside, though that term was no longer relevant since all missile pods were attached to swivel gimbals. Even the lowest Corvette-Class vessel could fire six fish at once, while the _Canberra_ could fire up to twenty. One hundred and fifty-five missiles were fired from the Battle Group, showing up beautifully on the LADAR as they raced towards the Batarian Fleet at the speed of light. No doubt the Batarians would see the spread heading towards them, probably laughing. Missiles were almost redundant in this day and age with kinetic barriers, almost nullifying their use. No one else used missiles except for humanity because they were only useful if they could hit a ship's hull.

The Batarians were about to find out the hard way that Captain Rhys Llewellyn had a nasty ace up his sleeve.

 _"Thirty seconds to FTL spin-up. Crew evacuation complete."_ Commander Sullivan announced, obviously still aboard his ship. Man was going to go down with his ship and whatever remaining crew he had left, as was expected of a ships' Captain. _"Destination for lifepods is No'burg."_

"Good." He had just one more card to play, but it would require some pretty precise timing, as well as a lot of balls. "Announce the ten second mark." Llewellyn looked to the navigator. "Plot Battle Group destination to these coordinates here when the _Charger_ detonates." The Captain pointed out a series of coordinates near the Gas Giant Archanes. "Marshal, you still there?"

 _"I'm listening, Captain."_

"I'm giving the Batarians a good solid to the chin, and then I'm going to refuel my ships at the fuel depot at Archanes before leaving some nasty surprises when they come in for resupply." Llewellyn explained. "I don't have the firepower to face them, so I'm going to keep them busy with some old-school Navy tactics and guerrilla warfare. Be warned, they will come to ground, and they will go for No'burg. I'm deploying my Marines and the rest of my NST's to help you in your endeavors. Your orders are to bottle up the populous in a stronghold and make the Batarians pay for every bloody inch. Nobody's reaving another colony as long as I draw breath, so make it as expensive as possible, Marshal."

 _"Understood. And... good luck, Captain."_

"Likewise."

 _"Ten second mark."_ Lieutenant Commander Patrick Sullivan called out over the loud speaker. _"Godspeed, gentlemen."_

"Go with the grace of God, Patrick. You will be remembered."

 _"I doubt that the Batarians will ever forget thi.."_

* * *

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

Marshal Sam Collins returned the phone back to its receiver as static filled the other line.

"Holy shit."

Sam looked up to see Master Chief Stacy Valentino and Senior Chief Royce Mason standing at her doorway, their faces pulled into fierce grimaces. Chief Jane Shepard was still standing in her office, looking... awed? Perhaps Lieutenant Commander Sullivan's sacrifice had been one of admiration to one who knew the bitter taste of fear being reaved. Mindoir hadn't had a Battle Group to protect it, and now she was seeing what she had joined coming to fruition. A single ship, with a chosen few willing to die in the name of many. What courage!

"Stacy," Collins began, looking up to the Master Chief, "I need you to spin everything and everyone up. Evacuation drills, colonial defense strategies, rally points, defensive points... the works. I'm going to hit the panic button, and we're going to have seventy thousand people running scared and wild. The only way we'll be able to protect them is if we come up to them with a workable plan. Royce," she looked to the Australian, "take a few of the MP's and find out where the Marines and other NST's are landing. Accommodations are going to scant and scarce, but we're going to need those men. How many are we looking at?"

"Marines? Battalion strength." Val replied immediately, knowing the answer. "That's six hundred give or take. For the NST, we probably merit a company's worth, so another hundred and twenty. Add in the crew of the _Charger_ and were probably looking at another forty sailors with Boot Camp skills. Probably better just to sequester them with the rest of the populous." Seven hundred and twenty men sounded a lot... but to protect seventy _thousand_? That was one trained combatant for a hundred civilians! She guessed what really mattered was how many Batarian forces would be coming to the colony of No'burg...

...and the other three colonies on Therum she was equally responsible for.

"Collect them soonest." She nodded to Royce. "Secure all arms and munitions in the Pit for the time being, and we'll sequester as many of the Alliance personnel into the SA Compound. As for the miners..." Sam took a deep breath. "Honestly, the mines. There's a couple of them that are deep and big enough to cram a good many people inside of them, giving only one access point for the Batarians to funnel themselves into. But there'll be the threat of cave-ins and gas attacks. We can close off the districts, but that'll just slow them down, and doesn't really protect the populous. I need solutions. And the clock is ticking." Stacy nodded as both the Master Chief and Senior Chief left. That left just one person.

"You're going to ask about Mindoir." Chief Shepard pointed out quietly, her face pained.

"How they attacked it, yes." Collins replied, feeling a lump in her throat. What she was going to ask was terrible, and she knew it. "Every scrap of information is one more piece in our favor, Jane. We can learn from Mindoir to save Therum and its _one hundred and thirty thousand_ residents. I know I ask a lot, and as a Shanxi survivor myself, know that I don't ask lightly." The Petty Officer looked at her for a long moment, and finally nodded her head.

"Okay. I'll tell you, but just you." The redhead shuddered slightly. "No one else other than the MC knows, and I don't think I could tell it twice."

* * *

Author's Note: The Surrender of Fort Detroit (1812) - General William Hull fell to this prank of 'overwhelming' odds when Chief Tecumseh moved his men around in a fashion that made it look like he was commanding thousands of Natives instead of hundreds (or less), giving the British the occupational status of Fort Detroit, a huge blow against the Americans during the War of 1812. Surprisingly, the British even credit Chief Tecumseh of this idea, and I'm even more surprised they went along with it. Read history on the French-and-Indian Wars, Revolutionary Wars, and the War of 1812 on British Perceptions on the Colonials (and later Americans) on how their own arrogance was probably more lethal than our guns. Specifically, check out the Battle of Bunker Hill (1775) and why General George Clinton should have been heeded in that pyrrhic victory in which the British 'won' Breed Hill at a devastating loss of two and a half men to the American's one (which most American losses were during the retreat, not the actual battle). Fucking love history!

It's kind of interesting to write _Chief_ Shepard as oppose to _Commander_ Shepard, but Shepard would have started somewhere, right? One of my fans wrote saying that he _knew_ something bad was going to happen soon as he saw that name... but it's 2175, not 2183. This is youngShep, not badassShep. Tying her in but not making her central to the story is actually pretty fun. And I made her a survivor of Mindoir.

Li-Fi - Wi-Fi stands for Wireless Fidelity while Hi-Fi stands for High Fidelity (which deal with signal strengths). Li-Fi stands for Light Fidelity; transmissions are light-based, like fiber optics but without the hardware in-between. Think of laser transmissions… which is utterly plausible and even existing today in infrared (like… grocery store scanners).

CCIR - The military is manned 24/7 despite holidays and weekends. Someone is always at a desk or phone. CIR's and CCIR's are a list of Intelligence Requirements that if something happens (say, a drunk soldier plowed into a car and killed somebody), who to contact at that point in time. CIR's, or Command Incident Report, is generally the 'minor' things, such as DUI's, births, minor fights that involve stitches, that sort of thing. This is also known as the Incident Command System that a good many emergency agencies use as well so that a responder knows whom to call in case of an event. CCIR's, or Commander's Critical Information Requirements, is usually reserved more serious events, such as a death, a police action, declaration of war, the kind of thing that can affect the mission statement. This is usually common in the military, though it wouldn't surprise me if many police agencies and firefighters use something similar. No one wanted to walk into their office with a ration of shit waiting to explode on them unsuspected.

Captain Rhys Llewellyn is based off of James Edward Olmos' character Commander William Adama in _Battlestar Galactica_.

The tactic I used in ramming a ship into another is not a new tactic; we've been doing it for millennia. I went high-tech with the tactic, and instituted a few Army tactics into it as well, particularly the Bait-and-Switch, mixed with a Flashbang Entry Procedure.

And we're going to visit Jane's sweet sixteenth. Presents, cakes, and harpoons.

Stay Tuned, Gentle Reader.


	20. Therum, X

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **New Edmonton, Mindoir, Magellan System, Voyager Cluster, 11 April 2170**

 _"Happy sweet sixteen, sweetie." James Shepard smiled at his oldest daughter as Jannie Shepard sat in the ice cream parlor, sharing a banana split sundae with her father in New Edmonton, Mindoir's largest colony. Living out in the more pastoral regions of Mindoir where the farming communities sprung up like weeds, Jannie grew up a farmers' daughter, going to school during the days, and helping out around the house with chores and farm work in the afternoons. She was sixteen now; technically an adult according to Mindoir Colonial Law. She could quit school, get a job, get a rover, and even get pregnant. Not that she was interested in any of those things (except the rover), but the possibilities were endless. Instead, for her sixteenth birthday, what she wanted was to go to New Eddie to see a movie and just have a nice day off, one with memories and laughter. Her mother was back on the ranch with her bratty two younger brothers, so Jannie just wanted to get out of the house for a while, do something selfish like watching a vid in the cinemas, and enjoy not having to deal with her large family for a few hours. She loved them to death, but some days they made her want to tear her red hair out. "So, Blasto?"_

 _"I wanted to make you squirm." Jannie smiled at her father as she ate another scoop of her sundae, relishing the treat. There weren't any ice cream parlors in Sanctum, the local hamlet near her family's ranch. She knew everyone in Sanctum, and for her birthday, she didn't feel like being accosted by dozens of people. She wanted to be surrounded by strangers, blending in, just some time where she could be... whatever she wanted. She decided to share the day with her father because she suspected he would enjoy the reprieve as well. "I... did want to talk to you about something now that I'm sixteen. Something important to me."_

 _"Of course, Jannie."_

 _"I... want to go Alliance." Jannie looked into her father's green eyes, seeing the older man a little taken aback. Her father held no love for the Alliance, which was one of the reasons he moved his family to settle on Mindoir when Jannie was but a toddler. "I know you don't like them for having to cater with the aliens and such..."_

 _"Among other things." Her father replied softly._

 _"Among other things." Jannie agreed. "I've already been farming all my life, Dad. Nothing wrong with it, but I want to see what else I can be good at. Get out. See things. Get an education. Make a few mistakes and learn from them." That had him snort as he sat back in his chair and mulled it over._

 _"Way I see it," James Shepard began, "my issues with the Alliance are just that; my issues. I don't like them, but that doesn't mean you don't have to like them. This is your life, and you bring up a good point. We love you, we raise you, we teach you, and ultimately it's our job to let you go and see how we faired. Am I happy that you want to go Alliance? No." That had Jannie giggle. "But am I happy that you found something for yourself, something that you chose for yourself? That's you being you, and I'm proud of you for that. And I'll support your decision because I love you."_

 _"Thanks, Dad." Jannie smiled as she went for another scoop of her sundae when the power went out while outside the parlor several strange loud coughing noises rattled the parlor's windows in their frames. "What was that?" The young woman asked, confused as the Shoppe went dark, illuminated only by the light of Magellan._

 _"I... don't know." The older man frowned as several people in the parlor made noises of confusion and a little bit of fright. "I don't think that's a normal power outage."_

 _Outside the parlor, the alarms began to sound as dark leaves descended from the sky, loud and bulky as static lines were shot into the street, impaling into the plasticrete with harpoon-like heads. Jannie's eyes went wide as one struck the street in front of the Shoppe, cracking through the plasticrete as the cable that was attached to it went taunt._

 _A dark figure, armored and menacing, slid down the cable like a trooper, weapons and equipment festooned about his person as his heavy armored boots struck pavement with a solid thunk. The figure immediately moved from the cable, raising a weapon of some kind, Jannie's eyes going wide as he aimed it down the street, the sound of gunfire emitting from it as blue-shift sprawl ejected from the barrel with the sound of supersonic pulses of the weapons' activation. She heard screams coming from the street as the figure gained a companion, equally armed and menacing, just outside from where she sat._

 _And the figure turned towards her, and raised a similar weapon..._

* * *

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins shivered slightly as she listened to Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard told her story in strong, fitful bursts, the evidence of a grieving heart that never truly healed recounting a day of horror and fear. It was clear even to her autistic mind how traumatized the woman in front of her must have been, surviving such an ordeal. How could another understand, unless faced with such a situation? How could one relate, unless one had undergone such an ordeal?

Because of Chief Shepard, Nova Yekaterinburg might have a chance, an edge.

"EMP Burst Bombs." Jane said, the redhead's voice filled with venom and ire, rage counteracting trauma. "That'll be the first strike, to knock out all the colonial defenses and disable most of the weapons and armor of any possible responders or militia. Then they'll deploy the shock troops for immediate pacification right into the heart of popular gathering places and locations, mostly to stir the locals up and corral them into easy collection points while goading any potential heroism to come out and fight. There will be crowd control weapons used, phasic rounds and gas shots, perhaps even mild nerve agents to subdue resistance and evasion. Ultimately," the Petty Officer shrugged, "they will set up a perimeter to where there is no escape, and then they will clear a city street by street, block by block, building by building." Jane blinked a few times, staring right at Sam. "I survived by doing nothing proud or selfless. I watched as I hid in a sewage pipe, seeing men and women dragged off the street, crying and begging. I starved in that pipe, too afraid to leave as I shivered in the shitwater and debris of trash and disease, making do with leftover water bottles that had been tossed away with little milliliters of water left over. That's my act of defiance, my brave story. Curled up in a little ball, hiding in shit, too afraid to move or cry."

Sam wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead, she placed her hand on Jane's shoulder and made sure she held the woman's eyes.

"Could be you just saved this colony, Jane." Sam was having a hard time focusing, her mind trying to absorb too much, too much to process. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. One thing at a time, keep her thoughts on one thing at a time. "Now we know. Now we can do something about it. And that's because of you." The Petty Officer didn't seem to believe her. "Think I blame myself for what happened to Shanxi, why I survived when my parents were killed in the same kinetic strike that buried the school we were hiding in? Think I blame myself for all those women and babies in the House of Horrors? I did what I could, when I could. When it was time to make a difference, I did. It's a struggle, and I know all about struggling. Been doing it all my life." Shepard looked at her oddly, obviously not getting it. "I have to think there's a reason for it all; why I survived a kinetic strike, why I was never adopted, the years of lessons and conditioning to make me fake normality, to look and act like one of you. I'm here for a reason, _and so are you."_

"You really do believe that, don't you?" The redhead asked, her voice quiet, thoughtful. "God has a plan and all?"

"We all have plans. Mice and men." Sam replied, making Shepard snort. "Best part about being autistic is you never are sure if any of this is real, or just a really, _really_ bad interpretation. Now," the Marshal took a deep breath, fighting off the urge to stare at _everything_ at once, "we have a colony to save. With me, Chief?"

"Yeah, I'm with you." The Petty Officer replied, nodding her head, her face grim and determined. "Let's go make it worth something."

Master Chief Pretty Officer Stacy Valentino was quickly reviewing several maps of the local region surrounding Nova Yekaterinburg, trying to find _anything_ that might resemble a safe location for the impeding raids and attacks that would be happening on No'burg in an indiscriminate amount of time. She figured that the Batarians would probably operate much in a similar manner as the Systems Alliance Navy would for the most part; gain control of the local battle space, develop a sphere of influence, set up a patrol and defense net while finding optimal locations to anchor a ship in a gravity well for fuel economy. That took time to do properly, and even a slap-dash job meant approximately two to three hours of maneuvers, coordination, fighter screen lines, and checking out blackspace where radars and thermal imaging equipment couldn't see behind, such as moons and asteroids. After that, there was deployment; gathering the men, fitting them with the necessary and proper equipment, briefing them on their mission, loading them up while prepping shuttles and vehicular craft that would take them down to the planets' surface. The higher echelons would be planning the whole operation while those things were happening; assigning sectors to teams and platoons, adjusting fields of fire to avoid fratricide events, limiting advances so as to not have two different platoons covering the same ground twice, establishing lane boundaries, downloading imaging maps with mission overlays for easier reference and dissymmetry... such things didn't just instantly happen. That kind of meticulousness was the difference between a success and a disaster.

She fought on Shanxi, she would know.

Stacy was gambling on a time; three hours plus change. She heard the exchange on the DSN line with Captain Rhys Llewellyn on the SSV _Canberra_ , and knew what had occurred. The SSV _Charger_ had sacrificed itself in a highly illegal attack reminiscent of a _kamikaze_ attacks from World War II with the intent to slam into the _Capital_ -Class Dreadnaught and have its core go nova. That would screw with astronavigations, LADAR, thermal registry, kinetic defense shields, communications... the works. And then the Captain had the audacity to fire a full exchange of missiles _before_ the _kamikaze_ attack, knowing that the slower missiles would take time to reach their destinations. He had blinded and silenced the Batarians after delivering a knockout blow to their biggest ship, and then he suckerpunched them while they weren't looking, letting the Minutemen missiles even the odds by having them hurl towards the vessels while their shields were down. Normally, a missile would impact against a ship's kinetic shielding and blow up harmlessly, weakening the shield but nothing else. With the shields down? Those same missiles would strike against a ships' hull, and there _would_ be damage. Hull breaches. Decompression. Systems knocked off-line. Decks damaged and of limited use.

That would do several things, the least of them being slowing the Batarians down. The first few minutes would probably be chaotic as hell as static filled the external monitors while battle damage assessments were reported in. Necessary repairs or options would need to be engaged if something important was threatened, possibly crippling a vessel. Once the radios and the monitors went back on-line after the Eezo radiation died off, the Fleet would need to coordinate with themselves to assess their space-worthiness and battle-readiness, giving off an efficiency ratio pertaining to the mission at hand. It was hard to say what the fucking Batarians would determine an acceptable level of loss, whether they would go ahead with whatever they had planned or not. Turians generally didn't back down from a fight or retreat because of losses, but even they acknowledged a superior tactic or clever foe, giving grudging respect to a worthy commander and entered into cease-fire.

Batarians weren't known to do that. Sometimes they would absolutely clog the battlefield with bodies and losses, seemingly uncaring how bad the butcher's bill. Other times, they would cut-and-run when they met stiff resistance. It probably had to do with what kind of troops they had; conscripted militia or State-trained combatants. Batarians generally didn't care about their low-caste brethren populating the militias, practically armed rabble meant to soak bullets and wear out an opponent through attrition. Of course, that was the land warriors. Navy was different; those were all State Military Volunteers, mid- to upper-caste Batarians. Ones the Hegemony actually gave a shit about. No, the militiamen were poorly armed, poorly armored, poorly trained, hopped up on battle stimulants, and sent running and screaming towards the enemy like some _Braveheart_ shit. The real Hegemonist soldiers and sailors were more ruthless, cunning, and deceptive, often coming up with nasty traps and Catch-22 scenarios that would catch one off-guard. Nasty fighters, nasty tacticians, and not at all above pulling out illegal weaponry to gain the upper hand.

Captain Llewellyn had bought them time, and did his best to even the odds with his reckless maneuver.

Val was looking at the mines of Therum, specifically the ones nearest No'burg, frowning. Sure, they ran deep; deep enough that squeezing about half of the colonial population was actually plausible if uncomfortable. But the issue was supplies and tempers. Being stuck in a sweltering cave that probably averaged around forty degrees Celsius on a cool day was asking for heat injuries within the first day, and tempers to fray even before then. Any water they brought or was available would probably go dry quickly, and she didn't doubt the fucking slugs would ensure a whole host of nasty surprises on that front; poisoning the well, sending explosives down to ruin the supply, the works. Food would go quickly, too. And a cave wasn't exactly living accommodations. Asking thirty thousand people to go back to the Stone Age and sit it out for a week or two would probably have thirty thousand dead colonists for a wide variety of reasons. Mostly grumpiness and hurt feelings.

Sending them off to the eight corners without a means of transportation, spreading them out to limit how many would be captured was also out of the question. First, they didn't have nearly enough vehicles. Second, Therum itself was a basalt-covered wasteland, with geologically active hotspots where lava gushed and spluttered onto the surface. Sure, it would mean the Batarians would have to spread out to capture some, ensuring others would escape, losing an eighth as oppose to a lot more. But, like with the mines, supplies would be an issue. Nova Yekaterinburg was practically in the North Pole, and everything south was hotter and more dangerous by a good deal. That was even worse than asking an angry mob to sequester themselves in a hole in the ground.

Relocation was a logistical nightmare. Evacuations were always messy, hard to coordinate, and almost never effective. First, No'burg was literally the largest habitable town in all of Therum, so much so that the next biggest one, Shablensk, was not even a thousand in population. There were a total of three other colonial villages in Therum after No'burg, and together they wouldn't even support a tenth of the population. Plus, those other towns had even less going for them in means of defense and supply. Might as well send the colonists running for the hills for all the good that would do.

No, the perfect place was No'burg itself.

That wasn't to say that No'burg was a good place to make a stand; far from it. There was just simply no other location to use other than the colonial spaceport. While it only boasted exactly two anti-space MAC guns for defense-related purposes, it did have them. It had enough space to hold the population, and enough supplies to keep them fed and hydrated for at least a decent period of time. That was a start. There were actually several compounds in which defensive stands could be fabricated, and the city itself was a rats' warren of twists, turns, and death traps. Honestly... they could tie down the Batarian forces and make them bleed badly. The container habitats were so haphazardly stacked and planned that trying to fly _inside_ the city was an exercise in insanity, and trying to land troops in it would come with a heavy price tag. The residents themselves would also play a factor in their favor; a good number of gangs and crews existed in the blocks and corners of the favelas, and Stacy didn't doubt there were probably a few hundred smuggled or homemade weapons in case shit got bad. Miners were usually a hearty breed and generally didn't take shit from nobody. Drop a few Batarians among them, and the slugs were going to get the shit kicked out of them and curb-stomped for good measure. Add a few hundred armed Marines, a few NST teams, and possibly even the use of the Eldfell-Ashland Security goons, and you had coverage. Throw in a few vehicles for quick reaction, a few mining vehicles and equipment to block up some avenues of approach, dump some dirt for fighting positions and blockage, and the city would turn into a slaughterhouse.

The war was going to happen right in the streets of No'burg.

* * *

 **UT-40 Liberty-Class** _ **Erica**_ **Transportation Insertion Vessel, Orbit of Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

 _He's the wolf screaming  
_ _lonely in the night  
_ _he's the bloodstain on the sta-a-a-ge!  
_ _He's the tear in your eye,  
_ _been tempted by his lie,  
_ _he's the knife in your back, he's rage!  
_ _He's the razor to the knife,  
_ _oh, lonely is our lives,  
_ _My heads' spinnin' round and round!  
_ _But in the seasons of wither,  
_ _we'll stand and deliver  
_ _Be strong and laugh ah-ah-and..._

 _SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!  
_ _SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!  
_ _SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!  
_ _SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!_

 _He'll be the love in your eyes,  
_ _he'll be the blood between your thighs,  
_ _and then have you cry for mo-o-ore!  
_ _He'll put strength to the test,  
_ _he'll put the thrill back in bed,  
_ _sure you've heard it all before!  
_ _He'll be the risk in the kiss,  
_ _might be anger on your lips,  
_ _might run scared for the door!  
_ _But in the seasons of wither,  
_ _we'll stand and deliver,  
_ _be strong and laugh ah-ah-and..._

 _SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!  
_ _SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!  
_ _SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!  
_ _SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!_

Systems Alliance Marine Corps Private Blake Bell was trying his best not to throw up from his crash seat as the UT-40 Liberty-Class Shuttle rocked and vibrated on its approach to Therum, feeling as if the vessel was going to rattle to pieces as the speakers blared the Crue. He had never been on a combat drop before, the holy of holy's among the Corps, and the joke was that a Light Jump Marine without a drop was as useful as a virgin on a Friday night. As the Shuttle bucked and banged him against his restraint bar attached to his crash seat, he was beginning to wonder if lying about his age to join the Alliance Military was such a good idea.

If his Chain of Command knew he was only sixteen, they would freak. Then they would probably kick is ass. Rightfully so.

 _"Better not puke on me, shave tail."_ Lance Corporal Antonio Vargas announced beside him in the crash seat next to his as the E-3 looked at the green Marine sitting right next to him, Onyx Helmet rattling against the seat and the bars as they re-entered Therum. It would be impossible to puke on Lancie Vargas; Bell was wearing his own helmet, all the Marines in full kit in case of atmo leak and decompression during re-entry. If he puked, he'd puke in his own helmet and probably drown in it. The Lancie wasn't looking for that kind of answer, though. There was only one acceptable answer in the Corps, after all.

"Sir, yessir!" The Private told his Team Leader, his first-line supervisor giving him the hairy stinkeye before returning to the ride, leaning his head back and enjoying the uncomforting feelings of the UT-40 plummeting onto a planet. Lance Corporal Vargas had two combat drops to his name, a tried-and-true Marine. Bell was as about as respected as a puddle of piss until he got that Drop Badge pinned over his heart. There was no award more coveted among the Marine Infantry than the Combat Drop Badge.

 _"Don't be too hard on him, Lancie!"_ Corporal Ernesto Mananas called out from across the shuttle, his tone playfully nasty. _"He wore his red shirt under his armor."_ That got a few chuckles out of the Marines, while Bell did his best not to blush despite that his helmet would have disguised it anyhow. _"Stick with me, shavetail, and I'll make sure you don't trip over your own feet and accidentally shoot yourself."_ Bell sticking with Corporal Mananas was a given; they were in the same squad, Corporal Mananas his Squad Leader. Why would he go anywhere else? He knew that they were ribbing him because he was the low man on the totem pole; just a shavetail among combat veterans. They went through the same shit and same ribbing as he was going through. He knew that they were doing it to toughen him up, to push him further and harder than ever before.

They were turning him into a Marine.

 _"Breaking into cloud cover!"_ Came the voice of Chief Warrant Officer Jeff Harbeck, the shuttle's pilot as the turbulence finally died away, the act of re-entry finally over. _"ETA into No'burg is ten minutes, Roughnecks! Just got a quick word from some friends on the ground that a rally point is established. Looks like you're going to be meeting the Boss."_

"Who's that?" Bell asked, wondering what the pilot was talking about.

 _"Dude, he's talking about the_ Marshal _."_ Oh... he had heard about her, the woman who had cleared the House of Horrors and went and decked out her own traitorous boss! Took his job and everything! Scuttlebutt said the Marshal of Therum was as badass as they came. Blake wondered if he'd get to meet her. _"Heard she knifed a Krogan!"_ Lance Corporal Vargas spoke up, his tone impressed. _"Like... through the mouth!"_

 _"Bullshit."_ Corporal Mananas snorted, obviously not buying it. _"Krogans are running, rabid tanks. Seen one plaster a man against a wall. You could see the blood splatter from where he struck!"_

 _"No shit! Buddy of mine is friends with one of the NST's down there, and showed him the pic!"_ Vargas reiterated, Bell's eyes going wide. _"My_ homie _Julio don't make shit like that up. He's an old_ Latino Rey _from Neo Angeles, and if he says someone got a righteous kill, he won't foolin' around!"_

 _"Just because he saw some pic with some chick with a Krogan laying down doesn't mean she killed it. Coulda been group effort!"_ The Corporal still wasn't convinced. _"You'd have to be a tough-ass_ hombre _to kill a Krogan solo!"_ To that no one disagreed. Bell had heard the stories; one-ton killing machines with bulletproof skulls and thick skin and muscles that could take a hundred round without dropping.

"I thought we were facing Batarians!" Bell pointed out, knowing only a little of what was going on. He remembered the Captain calling out the Red Alpha alert; a Fleet-wide signal indicating attack imminent. He had heard from the shouting Navy Chiefs and the Marine NCO's that it was a Batarian Fleet at least twice their size, and that they had come to reave Therum. That was all he knew.

 _"We are."_ The Corporal replied, his tone patient, as if talking to an idiotic child. _"Krogan are on their last legs, shavetail. Batarians hire them out for heavy infantry work, claiming that they're trying to 'rehabilitate' them."_ Mananas just shook his head. _"They're like mini-tanks, able to plow through defenses and defenders. I don't doubt there'll be a few dropped from those ships in case anyone's left to hold up a resistance."_

 _"_ Pendejos _gonna run smack-first into the Marine Corps fist is what's gonna happen!"_ Lance Corporal Vargas hooted. _"We gonna get us some!"_

"Yeah! Get some!" Bell called out loud, his heart pounding in terror. Oh God, what had he gotten himself into? He had joined so that his Mom could get medical benefits to help with her Multiple Sclerosis. Now he was going to do a Combat Drop on a planet about to be hit by Batarians!

The sixteen year old quickly began to pray to a God he hoped would listen. Any God would do.

* * *

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

"Sir! We need to hurry!"

Governor Adam Benson quickly got dressed as he looked over to the Eldfell-Ashland Security Guardsman that had knocked on his door, waking him up in the early Therum morning, Knossos still but a few minutes away from rising when he had gotten the word. The alarms had yet to be sounded because the Systems Alliance Marines were still landing to provide population control and dispersement of troop, but Marshal Collins had given a call to key personnel in the Colonial Administration and Government Buildings to perform normal lockdown procedures. The Governor was getting dressed out of habit, ready to head into the bunker that had been built into the buildings' basement, a thirty-person panic room that would sustain the population for at least a month. The bunker was meant for high-level government officials such as himself, his family, the Lieutenant Governor, her family, and a few of the Colonial Chambermen and their family. The Colonial Administration Building likewise had two similar bunkers for the same purpose. They had to be protected; they knew access codes and datapoints not only into secured hard drives for Colonial business and administration, but also financial data and account numbers. If one of them were tortured for information, the damage would be catastrophic. Likewise, their families could be used against them. Only Executive-Level Access Members would go into the bunkers. The rest in the Compounds, sadly, would be left on the surface.

"Is my family in the basement?" Adam asked the Guardsman as he finished buttoning his shirt, turning to face the man. "The Lieutenant Governor? The Chambermen?"

"All are on their way, Governor." The Guardsman replied with a nod. "Please come, sir. There isn't much time." Benson nodded as he followed the man through the hallway that represented the Governor's Wing, heading towards the elevator that would take him straight to the basement, in which only he and the Lieutenant Governor could operate. It wouldn't do to alert the others that something was amiss, and Adam supposed that they had gotten lucky, and that the attack had been early in the morning as oppose to the afternoon. Well, if it had been during the workday, he guessed that the miners would have been safely sequestered in the mines, or at least most of them would have been. He had no idea what was going to happen to them. Honestly, most of them weren't much better than the Batarians themselves; dirty scamps that had made too many poor decisions with their lives and were living at the bottom of the barrel. Many had signed on for the lucrative chance of striking it rich on Therum, but the poor bastards never read the clauses on the contract that explained that almost all the deposits founded were already owned by the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation. Whatever a miner found was already ninety-nine percent owned by the Corporation, and the scamps would be getting pittances instead of riches. It was almost slavery except for the fact that the scamps had walked right into an EA Colonial Building and signed the contracts of their own free will.

No need to think about that now.

Benson boarded the elevator that had exactly two stops; the Governor's Wing, and the basement, selecting the 'B' option. The doors closed before the security guards that had woken up and escorted him to the elevator as they too would be left on the surface, though contingencies existed for the EASC Guardsmen. The elevator went down six levels into the basement, where the doors slid open to reveal a bunker with just one door.

Which was closed, and a good number of people standing in front of it.

"What's going on?" Adam asked, quickly spotting his sobbing wife Sylvia, as well as Lieutenant Governor Michelle Graham, who looked fit enough to chew through steel. Michelle looked at him with anger, though not for him.

"That motherfucker locked us out." His second-in-command replied, her tone fierce and spitting as she looked towards the blast door that was rated to take a kinetic strike, as well as the bunker. The door was sealed shut, with a helpful red icon over the middle of it to indicate that access was impossible. "He grabbed some of his cronies and lackeys, and shut themselves in!"

"Who?"

"Chief Whitaker."

Adam went silent for a moment, thinking that one through. Sam... had mentioned something just the other day about finding discrepancies about the Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps Chief of Police. Something about financial transactions that seemed to be a fair deal more than what he could sustain himself with his normally lofty paycheck. He had brushed it off at the time, thinking it unlikely, as the man had been vetted by Eldfell-Ashland to be reliable. Despite being the Marshal of Therum, she wasn't exactly _allowed_ to do her job in either the Government or Administration Buildings, given only token authority due to the agreements that the energy corporation had with several key members of Parliament. Any internal issues were meant to be handled in-house while any external issues was under the purview of the Marshal's Office. Marshal Collins had picked up something about Chief of Police Marcus Whitaker, and had gone straight to him with her concerns, as she should have. He had dropped the ball, thinking it unimportant at the time.

Now they were all going to pay for it.

"I need to make a call." Benson told Graham, hoping his mistake wouldn't cost his family.

* * *

 **SSV** _ **Canderra**_ **, Orbit of Archanes, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

"Jump successful!"

Captain Rhys Llewellyn wasn't the only one to let out a subtle sigh of relief as the SSV _Canderra_ shifted from blue-shift emissions to subluminal light speeds over the Gas Giant Archanes, less than an AU away from the last planet of the Knossos System. Going FTL in-system was _incredibly_ dangerous, to the point that even the profiteering and the desperate were unlikely to do something that rash. Space, despite being mostly empty, was only _mostly_ empty. Asteroids, comets, chunks of rocks, old munitions from wars ranging back to God knew when... it was the proverbial root sticking out of the forest floor ready to trip up the unwary and the inattentive. When vessels went FTL, sensors were all but worthless due to their superluminal speeds, going faster than light. FTL meant flying blind, armed only with a navigation point, aligning the vessel to said point, and then more-or-less rocketing there with no ability to change course or halt progress in the case of an emergency. If there was a hundred-meter rock in one's way when they went blue-shift, a vessel would hit it with the force of a multi-stage nuclear weapon, causing unknown amounts of damage to the ship. Just one tiny hull breach during FTL would have the vessel literally ripping itself into pieces, tearing everything inside into molecules from the inertia. Which was why people flew subliminal in-system to avoid collisions.

It happened from time to time.

"Give me Fleet status updates." Llewellyn informed his navigator, who was already working on his console, pinging IFF beacons that transmitted ship statuses to those with the encryption keys to read such information. It saved time in battle not having to rely upon some Ops Alley screenwatcher to relay the information via communications during the heat of the moment, not to mention if said ships' communications were down, or said screenwatcher was being boiled alive due to rapid depressurization.

"Reporting... twenty-three vessels, minus the _Charger_." The navigator looked up, nodding his head once. "All other vessels are reporting in, green across the board." Rhys grunted at that, pleased. They had just done a small fleet FTL in-system without striking an asteroid. That was damn lucky. "There are a few issues with some of the vessels due to minor strikes and collisions. Mostly minor atmo leaks and the SSV _Explorer_ has a shield emitter that is malfunctioning." That wasn't too bad minus the emitter malfunction. The Corvette-Class _Explorer_ might not be battle-worthy, depending on the severity. "We should get accurate assessments within the hour, sir."

"Good." So far, his crazy-ass plan had come off like a charm. But one could flaunt fate only so much before it came back to bite in the ass. "Have all vessels dump charge into Archanes, refuel their Heavy Helium at max capacity, and then strip the station of any and all supplies before sinking it to crush depth. We're looting the joint like a liquor store raid, and then we're denying Batarians access to easy resupply." That was just Standard Operating Procedure, and he was glad that the Khar'shanians were arrogant assholes. His first act coming out of the Relay would have been to secure the refuel depot to ensure resupply from the automated fueling station that scooped He^3 from Archanes and converted it into the Heavy Helium that all ships used for thrusters and faster-than-light travel. He wasn't about to continue the oversight the Batarians had. "Post deep-space recon probes with pulse emitters program to ping upon contact on LADAR, omnidirectional. They come in the area, I'm not going to let their fleet have the satisfaction of pinpointing our location."

"Yessir." The navigator complied, already sending the order out to the communications department. "Should we send a probe to the Batarian Fleet's location to assess their damages."

"Not at this time." Llewellyn sighed, deviating from normal maxim. "Let them think we rabbited, and the deep-space recon probes a clever decoy. We don't have the strength to win against them, even as damaged as they are. Have the CAG meet me in the ready room in twenty minutes for a series of long-term scouting missions. We're going to have to play foxes and hounds with the Batarians, hitting their scouting patrols and winnow their numbers. Every ship we damage and nullify will be one less we'll have to fight later, and one less to deal with when reinforcements arrive."

"But we didn't have a chance to hail for reinforcements." The navigator pointed out.

"No, but Arcturus monitors traffic feeds." Rhys replied, nodding his head. "Once they see that they aren't receiving traffic from the Knossos Relay, they're going to investigate. There'll probably be a trap at the Relay, a few ships to fire upon anything coming, but that'll give the Alliance an idea what's going on. Help will be coming, but it's going to take time. Our mission is to harass the Batarians and give our people on the ground what support we can for the foreseeable future. They aren't on their own, but we can't help them out, either. They'll fight their war, and we'll fight ours. That's the best we can hope for, and hopefully the good Marshal down there will piss off the blinks just as much as I intend to." The Captain of the _Canderra_ looked at the display of the Knossos System, indicating where his Battle Group was, and the current alignment of the planets and Relay.

"Your move." He whispered to no one in particular.

* * *

 **Outskirts of Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175**

"Alright, you apes! Listen up!" Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason called out as Marines exited the shuttlecraft that was landing on the semi-hostile Salt Flats that surrounded the colony, the air already heating up with solar and geothermal heat. A full dozen UT-40's had already landed upon the surface to vomit out members of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps in numbers of twenty-five, sections forming up as the Non-Com addressed them with both his voice as well as the use of his communicator through his Omnitool so that everyone heard him. "Welcome to No'burg. Each of ya will be gettin' yer orders an' positions in 'bout fifteen seconds! The jackalope Batarians are still prob'bly strugglin' in space right now, so we have some time. Find yer positions, make some cover an' defenses, an' shoot anything with more'n two eyes. _Do you get me?_ "

 _"We get you, sir!"_ Twenty-five voices thundered out as another section went out, dubbed Section Lima. That was already half the compliment of Marines from Battle Group _Moctezuma_ already on the ground as two more UT's were descending from the sky. The emptied shuttles were already making milk runs to the other colonies and outposts on Therum to evacuate the smaller shanties towns as best they could to bring their populous back to No'burg, where the Alamo would be. Royce wasn't sure how Sam had gotten some miners to do so, but a few were already working some earthmoving equipment to dig trenches and build defensive positions through some of the avenues leading into the city, and blocking off others. Probably offered the blokes money and a ticket off this rock. It had been almost two hours since the _Charger_ nailed the Dreadnaught in the chin, and they honestly had no idea what was going on in space. No'burg didn't support any kind of deep-space scanning equipment, and the No'burg Spaceport was lucky enough to detect re-entry burns. At best, they would have a ten-minute warning from the first signs of approach to when the ships arrived on-scene.

More shuttles came, more Marines and sailors landed, more were moved into the city.

Chief Mason continued with his portion of the mission, to direct orders and troops to their assigned locations as they moved in. Ordinance was off-loaded and sent to various locations throughout the city to aid the defenders in what would undoubtedly be some of the more congested and difficult spots in fighting, or used in areas more specific for its use. Captain Llewellyn had delivered extra arms, ordinance, armor, gear, equipment, and utilities from the Battle Group's armories, and Royce knew that this was a fight they could possibly win. Stacy had figured that No'burg would be the best location to fight the Batarians off, and sadly, the Texan had called it right; they would go where the people were, no matter where they were. Keeping them all together in one place was risker, but it ensured a better chance at defending them, too. Fighting in cities was nasty, but that was a two-edged sword they planned on using to their advantage. It was easily to bring the people to the city than move them to some location that may or may not be defensible and supplied. Add in the extra people that would be coming in from the other colonies, settlements, outposts, and farms, and the city would be stuffed filled with every worst-case scenario.

There was no better fight than today, no better day to die.

The Australian directed platoons of Marines and sections of NST's as men and women of the Systems Alliance Military double-timed it to their positions inside the confines of Nova Yekaterinburg, under the blanket of warning sirens howling throughout the city as the Public Address System announced the warning that the Marshal of Therum.

 _"Citizens of No'burg!"_ The voice of the Marshal announced over the loudspeakers, her voice echoing steel canyons and metal buttes, crawling over container caves and feet-beaten paths. _"As I speak, a Batarian Fleet has arrived in our system, and I fear the worst. Fifty ships led by a Dreadnaught hang over our heads, coming with intent. Battle Group_ Moctezuma _engages them in our defense, but our comrades are half their size and strength. The Batarians are coming, and they are coming for us all._

 _"And we are ready to stand and deliver._

 _"As I speak, Marine and Naval Security Team detachments are manning defensive positions throughout the city, ready to make the Batarians pay for every inch. This is our city, this is our home. It is not they who dictate our lives, but ourselves. They send reavers and reapers, raiders and rapers. They mean to take as many as they can, to profit from our misery, to sink us to the depths of their territories where freedom is a forgotten dream._

 _"The time has come for us to stand and fight._

 _"Those who are willing to fight for their freedom and lives, stand ready and together as we distribute supplies and equipment for the upcoming battles. The road will be long and fierce, but we can make it if we stand together._

 _"It is time to stand tall, to stand and deliver, from here 'till Kingdom Come."_

 _\- End, Arc II -_

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter is more of a wide-view of what's going to occur; assembling the pieces before the fun truly begins. And plus to kind of touch what happens during events like this.

Shout At The Devil - written by Nikki Sixx, released on Motley Crue's _Shout At The Devil_ album, 1983. The Crue is always an option!

Combat Drop Badge - Based of the Army's Combat Infantry Badge, every 11-series bulletcatcher I'd ever met gushed about getting what we Cavalrymen called 'Ralphie's Shooter'. This nickname comes from the movie _A Christmas Story_ where Ralphie wants a Red Rider BB Gun. The CIB is a musket rifle with a wreath around it, likening it to a Christmas present of a BB gun. Thus the name. For a sci-fi story, I would think that a Combat Drop would be an equivalent.

Shavetail - Old Cavalry term for a new trooper, i.e. fresh meat. New horses that were brought into horse Cavalry had their tails shaved (length of service, literally!), thus the name.

LADAR - Radar actually stands for something, invented by the English in WWII to detect incoming aircraft. RAdio Detection And Ranging is the acronym. Light Acquisition Direction And Ranging will be the acronym for LADAR.

He^3 - Heavy Helium, a source of fuel.

One of my fans (Kudaria) asked me what an Asari Meldnest looked like, from Nihlus's message to Sam. I honestly hadn't thought of it, but I had planned on making it for the sequel A Fox Amongst The Wolves. Melding Couch and stripper polls included.

And just so you know, I have fully finished writing Where The Law Stands Tall. 6 months and over 200,000 words later, I created something that was both fun and endearing. And you will be introduced to the Final Arc: Libera Nos A Malo and the War on Therum.

Keep Calm and N7 On!


	21. Libera Nos A Malo, I

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 21 2175**

Author's Note: New Arc! New Characters! New Baddies! New Battles! And... a possible LI? Stay tuned, true believers.

And possibly the best quote I've ever read follows, from Leon Uris.

 _\- Begin, Arc III:_ _Libera Nos A Malo_ _-_

 _"Who is left in the ghetto is the one man in a thousand in any age,  
_ _in any culture, who through some mysterious workings  
_ _of force within his soul will stand in defiance against any master.  
_ _He is that one human in a thousand whose indomitable spirit will not bow.  
_ _He is the one man in a thousand whose indomitable spirit cannot give.  
_ _He is the one man in a thousand who will not walk quietly into the night.  
_ _Watch out for him; we have pushed him to the wall."_

\- Leon Uris, Mila 18

Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins stood silent as she looked to the skies of Therum, the oppressive heat already making the thermometers hit the forty degree Celsius range, today undoubtedly going to be an unseasonably hot day for a Therum Autumn. Sweat trickled down her brow as she angled her head for a better view of Therum's red-tinted sky, wondering how much longer it would be. The Vessel Approach Detection System of the Nova Yekaterinburg Spaceport had detected multiple re-entry burns through the highest spheres of the colonial planets' skies, the vectors indicating that they would probably have about twelve minutes before the first vessels arrived into the airspace of No'burg. She stood upon the roof of the Marshal's Office, seeing over the Compound Wall and into the Market Square of No'burg, desolate despite the late afternoon hour. In one fell swoop, she had turned her colony from a full-production mining town into a ghost town; no one roamed its dirt streets and paths, no one worked the mines, and for once crime was probably at an all-time low. That wasn't what occupied her over-processing mind as she looked to the trailerscape of the city, seeing the leaning container towers and haphazardly-placed domiciles of the town; _her_ town. This was her job, her duty, her city, her people.

As soon as Sam felt something went wrong, she had acted, and thankfully she acted appropriately. She hadn't panicked at the thought of a Batarian Fleet in the Knossos System, larger and stronger than Battle Group _Moctezuma_. She hadn't succumbed to the million details that were needed to be address for things to work. Actually, her Autistic mind had worked in her favor; one of her psychologists had likened her to a living computer, able to process data faster and correlate data at a more efficient model than that of normal people. When she focused, she could absorb all that was in front of her. When she put five different people talking to her at the same time, rattling details and preparations, she could answer them without having to ask anyone to repeat or wait their turn. She had, at one point in time, all the Marine Captains in front of her to report their battle readiness, and it had taken them a full minute to get over the fact that she had asked them to all talk _at once_ while she wrote out two separate sets of coordinating instructions at the same time. They had no idea what to make of it, but they hadn't questioned the impact when she turned a twenty-minute meeting into less than five with all questions answered (well, relevant questions, at least) so that they could go about seeing to their men and their orders. They had no idea what to make of her except that she was clearly exactly what they needed right then and there. She went to work. They went to work. Things got done.

It had been eleven hours since the Batarian Fleet was first discovered in the Knossos System.

The wait had been the hardest part, but the Marines, NST's, and people of No'burg themselves hadn't been idle with their time. Several of the heavy equipment operators had volunteered to take some of the heavy machinery to build blockades along the external roads that would lead from No'burg to the mines, or the one road that led to Shablinsk, the next nearest colonial town. Berms were plowed and trenches made to add protection and slow down the invaders, and some of the vehicles were now a part of the defenses, blocking roads or sections of town to lead the Batarians into the rats' maze of No'burg with the intent of keeping them under the withering fire of System Alliance Marines. Some of the Marines were on the ground to help pin down the invaders, setting up fighting positions and nasty surprises while others occupied the tops of the trailer towers, both for air defense and ground fire. The domiciles themselves were closed and barred as best as possible from the inside, rations handed to the miners inside for what would undoubtedly be the initial push. There had been quite a few volunteers in the time of need, most looking to grab a gun and fight back, but Master Chief Stacy Valentino had nicked that idea quickly; untrained combatants were more likely to be a hindrance than a help, and she didn't want civilians running amuck on the battlefield, disrupting plans just because someone got trigger-happy. Sam agreed with the assessment and had the volunteers doing other projects; fortifications, evacuation drills, first responders, and hasty repairmen.

They were as ready as they were ever going to be.

"Hey."

Collins turned to look at her companion beside her, Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard standing on the reinforced concrete roof of the Marshal's Office, the Military Police Non-Com looking at her with assessing eyes. The Marshal's Office had been converted into a hasty Tactical Operations Command Center, with Master Chief Valentino and Senior Chief Royce Mason running it while five Marine Captains and a handful of Ops Alley Sailors from the SSV _Charger_ worked on the flow of information and battle board. Most everyone else was out and in position with the exception of a couple of the original NST Team that Sam had come with from the SSV _Canberra_ , who were mounted on hoverbikes or driving work utility vehicles as both Quick Reaction Force and mobile responders if more weapons or first-aid was required, being led by Deputy Chad Gaultier, who knew the twisting paths of No'burg best. Jane was looking at her with green eyes that didn't bare scrutiny or suspicion. Instead, she seemed to be looking at her to see if she were okay. As if anything could be okay at times like these.

"Just... thinking too much." Sam admitted as she looked back up at the sky for a moment, and then back to the Petty Officer. "I know there are far worse things than waiting for an enemy when you're ready for them. It's just... can't help but think if there is more we could possibly do."

"Take it from me, Sam; good plans only get you so far, and can only save so many lives." The Non-Com replied, her voice sad, obviously haunted. "Men and women will be killed today, regardless. People will be taken, despite our preparations. The difference is that we _are_ ready for them, and we've given ourselves the best possible chances of success. Now the rest relies on good old-fashioned human courage. And marksmanship."

"I know. I just..." The Marshal sighed as she looked over No'burg, the shanty town less than ideal in the best of circumstances. She wasn't even sure what it would look like after being pumped full of raiders and slavers, defenders desperate to hold them off. There would be losses, and there would be failure. The difference was that, unlike Mindoir, Therum was ready for what came, and had a high degree of success. She had given the people the warning they needed and the defenses necessary while Captain Rhys Llewellyn had bought them precious time to make the necessary preparations. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends..." Sam remembered the quote she had told Nihlus Kryik... had it been just two weeks ago? It seemed like a lifetime in some regards. The Battle of Agincourt had been an outnumbered British warriors led by their King against the French, storming the French territories to fight against the those who supposedly held lands and titles from him. She tried to focus on anything else other than what was coming up, but the million or so details, thoughts and sounds were overwhelming her. She was losing perspective.

Sam was jolted out of her fractured reality by the feel of a comforting hand sliding into her own.

"Hey." Jane's voice was soft and caring as the redhead looked at her, Sam returning her gaze as the miscellaneous thoughts scattering through her mind were quelled, organization taking over. "I think I've come to realize that I really don't know what happened on Mindoir, not really. I saw what happened on the streets before I slid myself into a sewer, but all I saw was what _one_ person encountered, and not even a broad portion of what had happened. I've wondered... what was it like for those in charge, the ones that may have seen it coming, or had a chance to do something about it?" The Petty Officer closed her eyes, as if to picture it in her mind. "Those alarms... only went off seconds before the Batarians got into attack range. They had already fired their EMP bursts to disable most of the colony, so that meant someone on the ground probably activating them. Not that it really did much good I think, but it tells me that someone chose valor over preservation and at least _tried_. That person... may have been the only one.

"Seeing Therum, seeing what were doing?" Jane looked back over the town, still holding Sam's hand, grounding her. "I now know something I've always wondered but never had answers to. Either those in charge of my colony were completely ill-equipped and unprepared for what had happened... or they abandoned us. What could we have done with just a ten minute warning had someone bothered to try?" Shepard's face was now a host for tears as several cascaded from her green eyes and down the light dusting of freckles about her cheeks. "Would it have saved my father?"

"Jane." Sam turned the woman so that they faced each other, her hands gentle on the Non-Com's shoulders. "Blame those who are responsible, and move forward. I don't know what happened among those of the Colonial Administration of Mindoir, but I do know what _I_ did about it, what _you_ did about it. We didn't coward in fear or think about our safety first. My mind can't help but think on what more we can do," Jane snorted a little at that, no doubt the survivor thinking along the same lines, "but I can't come up with anything. Whatever happens? We've given the people of No'burg the best possible chance we can give them. We can do this. Together."

Collins was more than shocked to discover that Jane's response was to pull her in for a kiss.

A gentle hand had slid upon her cheek while the other went round her waist as Sam was pulled in, feeling soft, moist lips pressing into her own in the tenderest of fashions. She was left speechless and without thought as her mind tried processing this new sensation and coming up blank with lack of reference material as a tingling sensation tickled her lips and a strange warmth bloomed within her, different than the heat of Therum. She almost forgot how to breath as time stretched and reason left her as Sam felt the lips upon her own. Her eyes were closed as the cloying scent of a warm body so close lulled her to comfort and peace, her body shivering ever-so-slightly. When the lips left, they pulled a small gasp from her as Sam's eyes popped open to look upon the face of the woman that had kissed her, seeing a saucy smile upon those full lips, her green eyes bright with amusement and anticipation. She was still in the Non-Com's grasp, the hands that held her so gently, having pulled her in close to the point that would have normally have her trembling being so near another person. Yet she felt... safe, secure, at peace. Only Jane's face held her attention, the Sailor still smiling that saucy smile, like triumph won against all odds.

"Well, you're not yelling at me. I guess that's a start." The Petty Office spoke softly, words meant to be between them, private and intimate. "I'm fairly certain you're going to need help popping your eyes back in, though."

"I... I've never been kissed before." Sam admitted sheepishly, shame and embarrassment burning her cheeks red as she avoided eye contact for a moment, finding herself looking at the hollow of Jane's throat, where the Onyx Armor ended and what little of the woman she could see began. Her eyes went back up to look at those green eyes again, seeing a mixture of emotions in their emerald perimeters. "Now I know what they mean by 'toe-curling'."

"Oh?" Amusement was strong in that short word, and the smile grew deeper, and just a little satisfied. "So not mad?"

"No... I... I don't think so." Collins trembled a little in those arms, holding her so close and intimately, and for once she found herself wishing that she wasn't wearing armor so she could feel those arms for real, to know what an embrace truly felt like. "I... never really expected... anyone to..." The shame came back, knowing what she was and how most everyone perceived it to be. The old taunts and insults flickered in her mind, the shattered remnants of memories better left buried slowly spinning about.

"Hey, none of that now." Jane whispered, sliding her hand slightly forward to press a thumb against an escaping tear on Sam's cheek. "If they refuse to understand what a wonderful and amazing mind you have, then that's their own damn fault. You are who you are because that is who you want to be. In that, only God can judge you appropriately. Everyone else can just deal with it." The thumb traced down her cheek and towards her jaw where it slid back towards her ear, the hand slipping behind her head once more, returning to the tender embrace. "Just look how wrong they were about you, Sam. I don't know what they might have said, but I can imagine. How wrong were they?"

"Pretty wrong." Collins admitted sheepishly, not wanting to think about it. She was focused on this moment and this moment alone.

"See? Goes to show what they know." The Sailor smile as she pressed her forehead into Sam's, taking a deep breath. "You have nothing to apologize for, and nothing to be embarrassed about, Samantha. Quite the opposite."

"T-t-thank you." God, she was getting so caught up in the intensity of the moment that she was having trouble speaking. "I think I need a pry bar to uncurl my toes. They're still there." Sam could still feel the ghost of soft lips upon her own, and the thought warmed her.

"Well now, we can't have that, can we?" Jane's smile grew mischievous as she closed in, but this time Sam was prepared. She closed her eyes and felt the Sailor's lips pressing into her own once more, but this time it was different; longer, deeper, more intimate. She could felt Jane's mouth open slightly as her lips slid upon her own slowly as the close, caressing the soft skin of her own lips in such an intimate manner that her whole body shivered with the sensation, eliciting a soft pleasing noise from her throat as Sam's arms found their way around Jane, holding her their respective armors pressed into one another's'. Sam tried to return the favor by kissing Jane back, opening her mouth just enough to part her own lips and tracing them along the fullness of the Non-Com's, feeling the soft texture of her lips as Sam caressed them with her own. She found the act to be both pleasing and satisfying as she opened her eyes and found herself looking upon the face of Jane Shepard, feeling her heart fluttering for a brief moment, her restless mind gratefully quiet.

"That didn't help my toes. In fact, it made them worse." Sam said finally, feeling a smirk growing on her own face, her cheeks rosy as a sense of satisfaction bloomed within her. She never had something like this before, and now that she was experiencing it for the first time, she found that she rather enjoyed it.

"A _-HEM!_ "

Sam almost jumped up in fright, having been so focused on Jane that she hadn't been thinking about their surroundings as her arms quickly returned to her sides as she jumped back several centimeters, the Non-Com doing the same as they both turned to see that Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino was standing near the roof access of the Marshal's Office, her face hard as she stood there with her hands planted on her hips and a scowl on her features. Next to her was Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, whose hand wasn't large enough to cover the smirk that was spreading over his broad features.

"Petty Officer, if you would please be so kind as to return to the bunker? We're a T-minus five minutes before first contact." Val informed them, her voice without tone or inflection as she stared at them both.

"Aye aye, ma'am." Shepard piped up, her voice meek as she moved across the roof with as much mustered dignity as she could, moving to the hatch where a ladder led down to the office itself. Before Jane disappeared down the hatch, the Sailor looked right at Sam and gave her a smile, beautiful and honest.

"Royce, we'll meet you down there." Stacy told the man beside her, his goofy grin present for all to see as he left without a word spoken, knowing better than to lose this particular argument. Before he disappeared down the hatch, he gave Sam a double thumbs-up. Incorrigible! The Master Chief stalked forward, moving from beside the hatch towards where Collins stood by the roof's edge, shame evident on her cheeks.

"Been in your position a few times, caught at an awkward moments." Val said as she stood beside Sam, looking out to the city of No'burg. "It's been a hell of a few days for us, and a hell of a few weeks for you. Now we're in for the fight of our lives, for _everyone's_ lives, against monsters we know to exist and know exactly what they'll do." The older woman closed her eyes and let off a small sigh. "Can't say I blame you, enjoying a moment of peace and respite before everything goes to hell in a drop pod. Just take a piece of advice from a lifer like me, Sam; keep it close to the chest and away from snooping eyes. Mixing business with pleasure never goes well at all."

"I understand." Sam worked on calming her fluttering heart and blissful soul, knowing what the Master Chief was talking about. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Val turned and smiled, an honest one. "Do feel kind of bad for cockblocking you, though." That had Collins squawk at the vulgar term, blushing furiously. "You looked... very happy, very content." The Non-Com turned to look at No'burg once more. "Grew up in a place not too different from this, you know? Kid growing up in a farming bloc near the Rio where we were trying to till every available square meter of soil to feed as many mouths as possible, global food shortages and all what they were before we discovered the Mars Archives and figured out how to travel in space faster than before. I have no idea how many _manos-campos_ they sent off into the black when farming not only became our most valuable trade, but when we couldn't push people off Earth fast enough to combat the overpopulation and pollution. Royce was no different down in Melbourne, picking lettuce and potatoes Down Under. These people... they're our people. Colonists, pioneers, prospectors, blue-collar workers in which make the world go 'round." Stacy looked to Sam, her brown eyes... saddened. "We pushed people out too far, too fast, and too much, and we're scrambling to protect them all. We're too busy buying the neatest technological piece of shit while trying to play pretty for the Citadel Council while they dictate how we should all live. And then they let shit like this happen." Val gestured to the skies, to the ships that were coming. "Sometimes... I wish I could go back to being that farmers' daughter. Hated that life back then, but sometimes I'm strangely nostalgic for it. Probably because I'm an old lady now."

"You're not old, Val." Sam replied automatically, knowing what to say. That had the Master Chief snort.

"I have Seamen in my platoon I'm old enough to have given birth to now." Stacy smiled, shaking her head. "God, I'm helping leading _kids_ into war, and you're not much different, Sam. Where are the horse and rider, now?" That... had Sam thoughtful.

 _"Where now are the horse and the rider?  
_ _Where is the horn that was blowing?  
_ _Where is the helm and the hauberk,  
_ _and the bright hair flowing?  
_ _Where is the harp on the harpstring,  
_ _and the red fire glowing?  
_ _Where is the spring and the harvest  
_ _and the tall corn growing?  
_ _They have passed like rain on the mountain,  
_ _like a wind in the meadow.  
_ _The days have gone down in the West  
_ _behind the hills into shadow.  
_ _Who shall gather the smoke  
_ _of the deadwood burning,  
_ _or behold the flowing years  
_ _from the Sea returning?"_

Marshal Sam Collins opened her eyes to see Stacy just staring at her, mouth slightly open.

"What? You quoted Tolkien, and I thought it was appropriate!" Sam explained, blushing slightly. Sometimes, her highly-eccentric memory would do that, remembering fragments and bits and pieces that would otherwise have likely been forgotten except when brought up at such times. "King Theoden of Rohan, before the Siege of Helm's Deep, where the Rohirrim gather to protect the people of Rohan in the ancient fortress of Helm's Deep against the Uruk-hai and the forces of Mordor." The Marshal went silent for a moment, thinking. "Hundreds of soldiers relocated the people of Edoras into the garrison of Hornsburg, manned by the very old and the very young," that had a smirk on Stacy's face, "and the remaining soldiers of the Rohirrim manned the walls of Helm's Dike and the fortress of Helm's Deep itself, hundreds against thousands and thousands. They fought deep into the night, waiting for the dawning of the sun, for when Gandalf, Erkenbrand, the Huorns, and the riders of the Rohirrim counterinvade the Uruk-hai. It's classical literature, the Two Towers."

"I... honestly have no idea what you just said." Stacy just shook her head, smiling. "I just remember this crusty old Gunny Sergeant saying it back on Shanxi before we went to assault this fortified Turian position where we ended up getting pretty much massacred. I think he would have been impressed, though. Whenever I'm about to get into some deep shit like this, I can almost hear his voice again, asking that question before we rushed in to be slaughtered." The older woman went silent as she looked over the city. "Did they win? Helm's Deep?"

"Barely." Collins replied as she saw black specks in the sky, far in the distance, descending like rain. "Lots of losses, the wall breached and the fortress lost. They won with a desperate gamble and lots of luck."

"Sounds about right." The Texan nodded, seeing the black specks, too. "It's Alamo time, kiddies."

"Indeed."

* * *

"Incoming contacts reported!"

Alliance Frontier Marshal Sam Collins stood in what was now the TOC, the Marshal's Office having been converted into a command and control center for what would be the upcoming fight for the colonial city of Nova Yekaterinburg, the fortified office one of the best locations to run intelligence and dispatch orders to the seven-hundred plus troops ready to defend the city. She herself wanted to go out there, to help fight off the Batarians that were almost here, but Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino had put her foot down for good reasons. Despite all that Sam had done, she wasn't trained at fighting a war. Arrests and tactical responses were in her forte, but going out into the trenches was something completely different, and she hadn't the training or experience to fit in among the Marines, to understand their acronyms and hand signals, to know the positions and duties in which one was required to perform in a platoon. She wasn't exactly happy with that thought, but Val had a point. For now, she was set up to defend the Marshal's Compound and provide assistance along the Market Square, possibly the only real landing site in all the city in which a shuttle could physically fit.

"Two-four Alpha Victors on approach, three-two klicks, destination approximate No'burg Central!" Called out Able Seaman Jean Beauregard, his slight French accent punctuating his words. He had been one of the Ops Alley Technicians from the SSV _Charger_ evacuated when Captain Sullivan ordered the general evacuation of his crew. Seaman Beauregard, a rated Radar Technician, had rigged up a homemade signal emitter transmitter/receiver that acted like a crude radar, displaying a readout on a Haptic screen on one of the Deputy terminals, programmed by a Software Technician from the same vessel. Sam pursed her lips at the military lexicon, quickly learning it; twenty-four airborne vessels were going towards what might be the central part of Nova Yekaterinburg, thirty-two kilometers away. Not that there was anywhere to land there, the Batarians probably assuming there to be some sort of central square or town center in which to exploit. Unfortunately for them, No'burg wasn't built that way. And the Marines had planned out that eventuality. "Designation of Victors... looks like _Kanavor_ -29's!"

"Twenty-man quick deployment craft." Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard said from beside Sam, the redhead also on defense detail and the Market Square. She was also helping liaise with anything military that Collins didn't already know. "They used the same craft in Mindoir. The _Kanavor_ is a side-seater so that ten men can deploy instantly from each side, unlike our UT-40's, which is a rear-access in which only two can come off at a time."

"Wouldn't instant deployment be more preferable?" Collins asked the MP, curious.

"It can also get all your men shot at at the same time." The Non-Com replied, shrugging. "Six on one side, half a dozen on the other." The Marshal nodded at that, understanding the cliché; it meant that both had their advantages and disadvantages. "This will be about the time they'll set off their EMP bursts to take away any defenses and resistance for the colony..."

Several muted explosions were heard, and the lights in the Marshal's Office flickered briefly before coming back on.

"Remind me to thank all those Electrician's Mates and Marines for hard-covering our electronics." Sam told Jane, making the redhead smile in a sinister fashion. The Marshal had taken the Petty Officer's advice to heart and had asked around how to defeat EMP's. Thankfully, the fix had been simple; Electromagnetic Pulse were simply incredibly powerful electronic waves spreading out like an explosion, dousing anything with circuits with high-gain electrical radiation. Without any kind of protection, electrical components would be fried from the high-voltage static charge that would blow through the air, while remaining impotent against living beings. But with all things electrical, everything dealing with electricity worked on the principal of a circuit; voltage needed to go somewhere, and the more voltage there was, the bigger the location. The fix _had_ been simple; a simple wire tied to a metal component on their weapons and armor, and grounded into the planet of Therum itself. For buildings, such as the housing units in the city or the Marshal's Office, the same thing had been done, though a thicker-gauge wire was required to do the trick. Several of the Electrician's Mates had come up with the idea how (it had been tested before after learning how the attack was used on Mindoir) and the Marines had been responsible for nullifying the attack by nailing metal stakes into the ground around No'burg, along with the help of volunteers amongst the citizenry.

In other words, the EMP was rendered ineffective.

"Electromagnetic distortions detected!" Seaman Beauregard called out, the radar screen flickering for a few seconds before returning to normal. "Bursts were placed in the center of the city. Vectors are now splitting up into six groups." The Radar Technician announced. "ETA, one mike!" Sam looked over to Jane, who was pale and breathing hard, obviously reliving that day back in Mindoir, when shuttles like those had come for New Edmonton on her sixteenth birthday. Collins put her hand into Shepard's and gave it a light squeeze, feeling it despite the armored gauntlets that they wore. The Sailor broke out of her painful reverie to look at her, blinking several times as she squeezed Sam's hand in return, mouthing the words _thank you_.

"Contact Alpha, bearing zero-zero-zero, breaching city perimeter at one-eight-zero declination!" Beauregard called out as one of the Ops Alley Technicians populated the holographic battleboard with an enemy vessel icon, a red icon of a shuttle at the southern portion of the city in the Bloodsalt District. "Sections November and Oscar are engaging at the time." Two blue icons of rifles were highlighted at that portion of the city, Marine Sections engaging the vessels in question. Sam frowned as she thought about fifty Marines engaging four rapid deployment vessels with Hadne-Keder M7 Lancer Assault Rifles and M500 Storm Shotguns. Would it be enough? "Contacts Bravo through Foxtrot are circling the city perimeter. Contact Bravo entering at two-four-zero declination, Contact Charlie at one-two-zero declination. Section Lima and Mike are engaging Charlie, and Papa and Quebec are engaging Bravo at this time." Icons were placed and updated.

"Circling the wagon." One of the Marine Commanders spoke up, the Captain nodding his head. "Passing word to the other sections of maneuver."

"Contact Foxtrot gaining in elevation, attempting to bypass Marine defenses!" Beauregard called out. "Target now two kilometers altitude, bearing zero-zero-zero. Possible vector is Market Square."

"Showtime." Collins spoke quietly, looking to Jane, realizing that she was still holding the Petty Officer's hand. "Ready?"

"Ready, able, and willing." Chief Shepard replied, her eyes flashing in pain and anger, a survivor of Mindoir experiencing her second slave raid. This time, she wouldn't have to hide in filth to survive. "Time to reap the warwinds."

* * *

Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard stood at the barricade that was practically butting against the wall of the Marshal's Office Compound, a small team of Naval Security Team Military Police Officers, Marines, two Marshal Deputies, and Marshal Samantha Collins. All were armed with Assault Rifles, using the barricades as cover as they watched four shuttles descending from the sky in a circular pattern, corkscrewing downward as they lost altitude at a controlled descent. Jane watched with seething breath as she saw those vessels coasting down from the reddened skies of Therum, remembering the same vessels that had once reaved Mindoir, pulling men, women, and children right off the street, screaming.

 _"Wait for it..."_ Marshal Collins called out softly over her communicator, watching as the shuttles approached the Market Square, what defined the front of the Compounds and the beginning of the rest of No'burg, a hundred meter squared no-man's-land that could land the shuttles or deploy its troops in quick succession if needed. _"Let them reach deployment altitude, when they're most vulnerable."_ Master Chief Valentino had suggested they wait until the _Kanavor_ -29's began to spit out its troops, unable to take evasive maneuvers as well as having its kinetic shielding down to deploy its living cargo. Jane gripped her Lancer in both hands tightly, bearing her teeth as the fear of that day over five years ago left. All that was left was anger and retribution. _"Almost there, men! Just a few more seconds..."_

The _Kanavor_ -29's dropped to fifteen meters of altitude, just above the Market Square when the deployment gullwing doors of the Batarian Drop Vessels opened up to reveal its fruit that would soon be falling from its tree.

 _"Engage!"_

Weapons fire came from twenty barrels as electromagnetically-accelerated pieces of metal lightened by Mass Effect properties were accelerated at a percentage of the speed of light, blue-shift emissions trailing the burst of weapons fire as rounds began striking against their intended targets. Batarian Drop Troops were caught unaware as several were struck by rounds, their shields shattering almost immediately from the volume as rounds damaged armor and penetrated flesh. Ten Batarians on the port side of the nearest craft were killed within the first two seconds, their bodies twitching and spasming from gunshot wounds and death as the interior of the _Kanavor_ was splattered with their brownish-green blood. The shuttle in question veered and swayed as it was assaulted with weapons fire, rounds pining off its metal hull and cracking its alumniglas viewports as the squad on the starboard side quickly deployed before they too could come under fire, the deployment hasty and under fire. Instead of leaving the craft with even dispersement and landing in unison, the ten Drop Troopers more or less fell out of the spacecraft over a scattered period of seconds, landing over a dozen meter area due to the swaying craft as the pilot panicked as round impacted the alumniglas port by his head, discipline and self-preservation warring with one another.

The shuttle left its proscribed position as it veered hard towards lar'board, heading right towards another _Kanavor_ -29, which was about to deploy its own troops in a normal pattern. The shuttle that was under fire slammed into the second one, crashing into it with the force of a freight train as Batarians were knocked out of their deployment chairs before the magnetic grappling lines could be attached properly. Most of the Batarians fell out of the shuttle at a distance of fifteen meters from the ground without any kind of aid or assistance, falling to their deaths. A few were able to cling onto their seats, but the damage had been done. The second shuttle had been damaged during the impact, the first shuttle still lodged into its hull as both struggled to keep their altitude. Neither pilot was working with one another, not to mention the separate _Kanavors_ were crashed at different angles to one another, both spinning in a corkscrewed descent as they crashed into the Market Square, the second shuttle taking most of the impact as the first one was on top before it pulled itself out of the shuttle, tumbling to the ground with a thunderous boom. Few of the Batarians from the craft survived the fall or subsequent crash.

There were two more shuttles to go, and both had deployed their troops properly.

"Contacts, Blue Sector!" Jane called out as she aimed her Storm shotgun to the right flank, where ten Batarians had been dropped out of the fourth _Kanavor_ by the barricades, the shuttle having moved to miss being struck by the first two shuttles when they were attacked. She fired at the closest Batarian, watching as a hazy rippling effect rippled over the Batarian as his kinetic shields ionized the air around him to protect himself from the scattershot from the H+K Storm Shotgun. The redhead was too far away for the shotgun to be effective, so she was either going have to switch out to her M7 Lancer, or close distance.

Petty Officer Shepard leapt over her cover and put another shot into a Batarian, staggering him back a step.

 _"Chief Shepard! What are you doing!"_ Marshal Collins called out over her communicator, her tone alarmed as Jane continued to move forward, her features twisted in pain and rage as she fired her Storm shotgun again, succeeded in shattering the shields of the first Batarian as rounds began to be exchanged between the Systems Alliance forces and those of the Batarians with Shepard in the middle of the firefight. Her fourth shot splintered the Batarians' armor as he staggered back, leaking brownish-green blood from his chest as his hands went to his wounds, half-bent over in pain.

Her next shot crumpled his helmet... and what was in it.

"For Mindoir!" Shepard shouted as she rushed the next Batarian who was engaging someone else, the Non-Com feeling a round skipping off her kinetic shielding as it knocked her off a step, but didn't stop her or slow her down as she slammed the buttstock of her shotgun into the Batarians' head, knocking him back half-a-meter before she reversed her weapon and put a shotgun blast into him from less than a meter away. Half of his face was vaporized. "This is for my father!" She lashed out with a foot to knock aside a Batarian that was trying to shoot her with an assault rifle, another round hitting her kinetic shielding as she fired at the assaulting Batarian, only for her Storm Shotgun's overheat alarm to ring out in warning. Instead, the redhead launched herself at the Batarian, barrel-punching him with the barrel of her shotgun, and then following through with a swing of her weapon, using it like a club as the alien's head snapped back with a dull crack.

 _"Jane! Get your ass back on the line! Now!"_

The fear in Collins' voice cut through the red haze she saw as Shepard turned to see a shuttle baring down on her, the ground forces having been mostly mopped by the Marines and NST's. The remaining _Kanavor_ fired something, and Jane felt something hot pierce through her lower left leg. She gasped in pain as she looked down, and saw a slender metal rod impaled into the meat of her left calf, a barb at the head of the spear meant to grab while the end of it was connected with a cable.

A harpoon.

The cable tugged as the shuttle retracted it, sending Shepard flying as she landed on her back, the force of the blow knocking the breath out of her as she lost her grip on her shotgun. She looked back to see Sam standing up from the barricade, looking at her with eyes wide enough that she could see it through the visor of the Marshal's helmet. Collins bolted straight for her, tossing her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle as she sprinted right for the Petty Officer, leaping forward with hands extended as the redhead felt excruciating pain pull at her leg.

Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard screamed as she was dragged away.

* * *

Author's Note: Leon Uris is an accomplished American writer, whose stories such as _Trinity_ and _Mila-18_ are centered around conflict and defiance. Mila-18 specifically is about the Jewish Resistance of the Warsaw Ghettos, where the quote came from.

The name of this Arc, btw, is _Libera Nos A Malo_. Because you can't have awesome quotes without it being in Latin, I actually pulled this out of the Lord's Prayer. The full translation is _Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo._ Which translates to 'And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil'. Considering that this whole Arc will be dealing with the Assault on Therum, 'Deliver Us From Evil' seemed apt.

I tried to actually write this thing called _romance_. Describing the actual action of a kiss was a little more difficult than I thought, but it was fun. Making youngShep was fun too, as we're introduced to a Commander Shepard who is almost thirty, where as Chief Shepard is twenty-one.

The Battle of Hornsburg - This is the actual name of the battle of Helm's Deep in the book _The Two Towers_ from _The Fellowship of the Ring_ Trilogy by JRR Tolkien. I went for Theoden's full speech as oppose to the partial one from the movie. And I assume that it would be considered 'Classical' literature in the late 22nd century.

EMP - Electromagnetic Pulse. Discovered after the detonations of the first atomic weapons in the Fourties, it is a huge pulse of electromagnetic radiation that can blast things in the megaWatt range. This generally fries anything with power in it (batteries or not). Generally, electronics must be shielded (which is big, bulky, and expensive) to be protected. Simply 'grounding' them is not an option, I believe, though technically a blast of electricity being sent to the earth sounds legitimate.

Harpoon - Like the weapon of old used against whales when we hunted such things, a Batarian Harpoon is used to capture victims by launching metal rods tipped with barbs by the means of pneumatic pressure, bypassing the activation of kinetic shielding due to its 'slower' speed. The cable that is attached to it will then drag the victim away for collection.

And... how many of you are going to kill me for ending it _right fucking there_?


	22. Libera Nos A Malo, II

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 21 2175**

"Jane! Get your ass back on the line! Now!"

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins looked over to where Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard stood out in the open, rampaging through a force of Batarians with complete disregard to her own personal safety, not to mention disrupting the fields of fire from the Marines and Naval Security Team Members that were holding position by the Marshal's Office Compound. Nineteen members held their positions by the concrete barricades that stood waist-high, having been placed there by a forklift in a long line in front of the Compound's entrance to deny the enemy any easy access while giving the defensive members a long wall of protection in which would be next to impossible to flank. Unfortunately, the woman who had survived Mindoir had snapped and leapt over the concrete barrier to go toe-to-toe with the landing Batarians, shooting and slugging it out with them. Several of the Marines and sailors had called out to the Petty Officer to get her to return to the skirmish line, but the woman was lost in a haze of painful memories and bloody vengeance as she struck the last standing Batarian in the skull with her shotgun, swinging it like a baseball bat.

Sam saw the last remaining _Kanavor_ -29 shuttle bearing down on the vulnerable sailor.

Collins watched in horror as the shuttled fired something from the underside of the craft, a puff of smoke belching out as something slim and fast fired out. She heard a loud gasp of pain as she looked over to see Jane standing there out in the open with a rod sticking out of her lower left leg, the half-a-meter piece of metal impaling in her. Sam saw the cable that was attached to the rod, feeding back to the shuttle.

Oh God, she knew what it was... and what it was meant to do.

The cable went taunt as the _Kanavor_ retracted the slack out of the cable, and Sam's heart almost stopped as she watched Jane flung onto her back and falling to the ground with a clatter, the sound of her breath exploding out of her coming through the communicator as her Hadne-Keder Storm Shotgun fell out of her hands and clattered onto the red-brown soil of the Market Square.

"Jane!" Sam cried out as she stood up from her defensive crouch, seeing the Petty Officer twisting to look at her, the redhead's eyes wide with realization. Collins wasted no time leaping over the barrier, leaping forward into a sprint as she rushed towards where the Petty Officer laid prone on the ground, tossing her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle to shed the extra weight as she saw Shepard being dragged off, her screams of pain and fear echoing through the communicator as Sam leapt forward with her arms extended, desperate to grab anything.

Her right hand found itself clasping Jane's left wrist as both were dragged along the ground.

 _"Sam!"_ Shepard cried out, looking towards her with eyes wide and fearful; what worse fear would a survivor of a slave raid feel than the thought of being taken? Sam gritted her teeth as her hand clenched at the Petty Officer's wrist, Shepard clutching her own wrist in response as they were pulled closer to the shuttle, its shields back up after it had fully deployed its troops, small arms fire bouncing off of its ionization field. _"Don't let them fucking take me alive!"_ The Non-Com cried out, fear overriding pain as her green eyes begged to be saved from her worst fear, a fate worse than death; enslavement at the hands of the Batarians.

"Never!" Sam exclaimed as her left hand dropped to the Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver from its mag-lock Kylex holster on her left thigh, almost losing her grip on Shepard's wrist as they were dragged across the Market Square towards the _Kanavor_ shuttle. Pulling her Smith and Wesson free, Sam Collins sighted the heavy pistol down its bladed sight, doing her best to aim through the dragging and the dust kicking up from the act, and pulled the trigger.

Her round shot the connecting point that tied cable to harpoon.

The cable twanged as it was released with no more resistance to keep it taunt as it fed back into the automated pulley placed upon the bottom of the vessel, slithering back quickly as the _Kanavor_ -29 banked hard to starboard, kicking up dust and dirt as it gained in elevation and velocity as small arms fire pinged off of its rippling shields, making its escape as its first set of raiders failed their mission, all the Batarians on the ground now dead. The shuttle left the airspace of No'burg quickly, joining its remaining companion in the sky as the remaining shuttles took off from the colonial city, under increasingly withering gunfire as the initial ground forces they had deployed were quickly subdued.

"Jane? Jane?" Sam moved towards the fallen Petty Officer, scampering next to her as she knelt next to Shepard, her armored form prone and inert. The black Aldrin Labs Onyx Armor was stained with dirt and dust, turning it a brownish-red color as it was dragged along the Market Square. Collins quickly detached her helmet, her face sweating from adrenaline and fear as she moved her hands to the clasp of the MP's helmet. "Jane? Talk to me, please?" Sam took off the helmet from Jane's head, and saw her face revealed. Her emerald green eyes were streaked with red while the flesh around it was puffy from tears as she wept out loud, her face so sweaty and caked from the short battle that it was hard to tell where the tears were.

"Oh God, oh God, they had me..." Shepard wept as her eyes slammed shut, the sound of her cries choking off her words as Sam gingerly cradled her, pulling the Non-Com up into a sitting position and holding her, feeling Jane weep against her neck and collar. "All I could see was my fathers' face when they harpooned him and dragged him away. I..." The redhead sniffled as she pressed her face closer into Sam, their sweat mingling together. "T-thank you, Sam. I'm sorry I broke rank back there, I... all I could see was red, and all I could hear were their screams." Collins didn't need much more explanation than that. Perhaps having a survivor of Mindoir here against another potential slave raid wasn't the wisest of choices, but they were all stuck on Therum without any kind of evacuation. Sam just held her close, leaning her head against Jane's, rocking her slowly back and forth.

"I'll never let them take you alive, Jane; I'll have your back or give you mercy. This I promise." Sam said, holding the woman closely for a moment before pulling away slightly so that she could look into Shepard's eyes. "But I can't keep that promise if you rush off like some idiot, Chief. I need you at my side, watching my flank, standing next to me." The green eyes looked into her own, never wavering. Sam had to cut through the pain and fear and loss and make her see reason. If she wanted vengeance for her colony, she would have to remain alive to do so. She had to make Jane see that. "Can you do that, Jane? Can you stand by my side and stay there?" The green eyes closed, though they were restless behind their lids, turmoil working behind those lids. Years of fear and pain were warring within; Sam knew that feeling, though on a different matter and level. She just had to find a way to reach the person beneath the trauma and grief, to help her surface and breath.

"Yes." The eyes popped open, looking at her clear and resolute, a promise made, and a promise to keep. Jane sniffled once more as she let out a long, shaky breath, the adrenaline and fear obviously draining from her as she winced. "Leg hurts like a mother."

"You... God, I thought I was going to lose you." Sam pressed her forehead into Jane's, closing her eyes as she felt the contact between them, their flesh pressed together, a comfort to her own fear she had felt. "Please don't scare me like that again, Jane. I..." A myriad of emotions fluttered through her, each one painful and explosive as her mind to grasp onto them all to make sense. She was losing her control and focus, and this was the worst place possible to do it. "J-just... p-please..." Words were failing now, everything was coming at once, her mind processing it _all_ at once, too much, too much...

"Sam? Sam? Stay with me." A voice came through the noise and distractions, a voice kind and caring. Gentle hand presses against bare cheek, wind blowing through hair and on skin, cooling drying sweat, heat from air comforting. Open eyes, see face against backdrop of the ground, face contorting into worry. Rocks on ground casing short shadows towards north. The sounds of burning off to left, hunks of metal on ground, once shuttles, the smell of smoke clogging all other scents, the scent of sharp pungent blood from bodies scattered, laying helpless on the ground, voices silent as other voices assail her, assailing, assailing, memories flashes coming sounds where smell all voices worried talking bleeding blowing heat hot cramp mouth dry stress voices wind smell blood fire smoke dirt see face loom lips...

...lips pressing on her own...

...she remembered those lips...

Sam felt her shattering reality slowly coming back together as she held onto the one thing that made sense, grasping onto it desperately. It stayed still and gained gravity, pulling the pieces and flotsam towards it, building a world through the wreckage of everything. Sam tentatively opened her eyes, no longer drowning but fighting the floods as her body trembled and quivered violently, the effort to focus great whenever she slipped. She saw a face in front of her, a woman around her age with hair the color of fire and eyes the color of grass. Her freckled face became sharper, more detailed as Sam saw little light tan spots splattered all over the creamy planes of her skin, smooth forehead and cheeks with a nose that was narrow with an elegant cast to it. Soft lips were pressing on her own, bringing a tingling sensation to her own, warm and charming. Thoughts aligned as the pieces came together, creating something that _made sense_ , and her ceaseless mind fixed upon what she could make sense of.

Jane was kissing her.

"Are you okay?" The Petty Officer asked, her tone worried and carrying as she pulled back slightly, her green eyes worried and scared as creases appeared around her mouth as she frowned. "Sam? Are you okay?"

"I'm... getting there." Collins took a shaky breath, forcing herself to focus on _this moment_ and nothing else, nothing else around her. She looked at Shepard, her concerned face... kind, caring. Not the false sympathies of Psychologists with so many degrees and platitudes, mumbling inconsistencies of misunderstandings while scribbling notes _No, this moment!_ This face cared, saying nothing, insinuating nothing. Just a look of worry and helplessness. "I'm... going to need to get back into the office. And you need to get your leg fixed." She took a deep breath, trying to collect all the useless bits and thoughts with that breath and exhaled it out, a breathing technique that worked well. "Thank you, Jane. I... I almost..."

"I'm glad you told me." The Non-Com replied, her voice sweet and caring. "Your eyes wouldn't stay still, and you started muttering _everything_ you were seeing and feeling. I wasn't sure what to do, so..."

"You brought me back." Sam nodded, taking one of Jane's hands into her own. "You gave me an anchor. By _kissing_ me." That had the sailor snort a little bit, her cheeks going flush a little with embarrassment. "I... I take it that you like women in that way?"

"Yeah." Jane frowned slightly, looking down for a moment, her face turning into shame. "I know a good many people think that kind of thing is wrong, but... I've never really been attracted to guys. And really? Who is to say what I can and cannot find beautiful?" Sam was fairly certain there was more to it than that, but that would have to be pushed to another time, not the middle of the Market Square surrounded by downed spacecraft and dead bodies.

"Let's get you to the Office so we can get your leg looked at, and... later? I'd like to talk to you. If you don't mind." Sam had no idea how this worked. She'd... never had anything like this before. Nothing even remotely close. She hoped she was saying the right thing.

"I'd... like that." Shepard replied softly, looking at her with clear green eyes. "I might need some help limping there, though."

* * *

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino stood in the _ad hoc_ Aid Station of the Marshal's Office, the Pit having been converted into a ten-room medical wing with the containment fields shut off while the Navy Corpsmen and singular Physician's Assistant from the SSV _Charger_ worked on making a medical triage unit for the upcoming casualties that would undoubtedly come in the upcoming days. Thankfully, the various Marine units from Battle Group _Moctezuma_ had brought extra supplies and equipment for the deployment, meaning that they at least had enough medical supplies for their troops, even for a real medical emergency such as an Urgent-Surgical. Minus the Hospitallers that were on- or off-duty, there were two people in the Aid Station that _weren't_ a part of the Navy Medical Corps. One very stupid Petty Officer First Class that was going to get her ass reamed in such a way as to describe as deeply traumatizing, and one Frontier Marshal that going to catch only a little hell.

She went with Marshal Sam Collins first.

Stacy saw that one of the Corpsmen was doing a routine evaluation on the Marshal of Therum, using a penlight to check her eyes as Sam sat on the prisoner's cot that had been modified to be a medical bed. Collins was out of her Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor and dressed in a black ballistic-cloth single piece body suit that was worn under armor, meant to provide ballistic protection from small arms fire in small calibers while generating a small electrostatic charge that would pressurize the suit for more hostile environments up to certain ratings. One of the sleeves was rolled up for an obvious blood pressure check as the Navy Corpsman finished with her assessment, flicking the penlight off and annotating the information on an Apple Corps iPad.

"I'll come back in a few minutes with the medications you identified." The Corpsman left the room, pressing a button to put down a low-grade containment field that was opaque and soundproof, a secondary access button on the interior so that any patient could leave if necessary while maintaining privacy. Stacy was standing in the room with Sam, and the Corpsman obviously didn't want to be a fly on the wall for the upcoming conversation she assumed was going to happen.

"How you holding up, kid?" Val asked, leaning against a wall with her arms folded against her chest, relaxed and non-confrontational. She wanted Collins to know that she wasn't in any trouble. As she understood it, the Marshal might have suffered an episode out in the Market Square after what happened. Thankfully, she knew of the young woman's condition, and knew there was no one and nothing to blame for it. Val would never truly appreciate the struggles and ordeals that Sam must have gone through in order to reach this level of functionality and capability, having to fight probably three times as hard as a normal person to achieve the same level of sociability.

"I'm going to have to start taking my Acebutolol and Effexor." Sam replied, sounding... off. "Then I'm going to have to start my regime of Klonopin and Risperidone." The Marshal wasn't even looking at her, staring at one of the walls, seemingly dejected. Her eyes didn't have the intensity as before looking at something, more as if she were... spaced out? Val didn't know of any of the medications she had just mentioned save for the Effexor; that was an anti-depressant.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Val moved over and knelt in front of the young woman, putting herself in the Marshal's line of sight. "I need to know so I can help out the best I can."

"I... fractured." The eyes closed the blue eyes hidden beneath her lids, her face pulling into a grimace as Sam took a deep breath, obviously trying to deal with something painful or unpleasant to her. The eyes opened slowly as she looked at Stacy, her pupils... unfocused. "Battle has me focused and determined, which helps. But when I saw Jane getting dragged away..." A long shuddering breath came out as Collins shivered slightly. "We... put a lot of weight on personal relationships, tend to cling to things that matter to us. A friend is a source of comfort that makes sense in a world that never does, while a loved one is an anchor that can help fight against the floods of chaos that are always swirling around us." Stacy knew that she was getting a keen insight on an Autistic mind that could make sense of the world, and the struggle in how. "Rip something like that away, put it in danger? I..." Sam's eyes opened, and the pupils slowly contracted, focusing on her. "She's a Mindoir survivor, Val, and she was being dragged in the thing she feared most of all. I saw it in her eyes." The Marshal shuddered once more, her pupils expanding and contracting several times, obviously a sign of her fighting for control with that memory in mind. "I... never been kissed before." That confession came out in a whisper, painfully admitted.

 _Kid, what did you suffer before this?_ Stacy sighed as she took Collins' hands into her own, giving her a little bit of stability, something to hold onto. _What trials did you face? What did you endure during those years in an orphanage, living in an environment that never made sense to you, forgotten and alone?_ Stacy didn't doubt that Sam probably had no idea with what to do with the first signs of affection and attention from someone showing some form of intimacy to her, all the confusion of a first love mixed in a warzone with someone struggling with her own uncontrollable mind. It wasn't hard to imagine that she couldn't cope, watching Petty Officer Shepard being dragged towards a Batarian collection vessel. Watching someone getting dragged off to a fate worse than death? Now have that person be that source of comfort or anchor that Sam mentioned? Even someone _not_ dealing Autism? Even someone like herself with years of experience in the military would have a hard time dealing with it.

"Kid, you did yourself proud out there." Val explained, making sure she held the Marshal's eyes with her own. "You fought back, you kept your cool, and you did your job well. I understand that you're a cop, and that has a different line of thinking from us military-types, but no one is going to fault you for reaching out to save a comrade. That was some straight heroic bullshit right there. That kind of thinking can get you killed, but I'm not going to fault you for it. If it had been Royce..." Stacy's voice petered off, letting Sam know how she felt for the Australian, "I would have done the same damn thing for the same damn reason. So I'm not going to ream into your ass like you're one of my sailors for doing something selfish when I would have been guilty of the same thing. You're a cop, and a damn good one, to boot. Plus you saved one of my men from her own stupidity, so I owe you."

"Thank you." Sam replied softly, her eyes slowly returning to normal. "I think the Xanax injection's really kicking in. Feel... loopy."

"Get your rest and do what you need to do to help yourself, Sam." Val smiled as she slapped the Marshal's shoulder softly. "You've done your profession, your office, and this colony proud. This is mostly going to be military, but because of you, we're here and ready. For now, get the rest you need so you can get back to fighting form. I've got this for you, just like I promised."

"Thank you, Stacy." The smile on the young woman's face was wane, but there. "Just... don't go too hard on her. Think she's... suffering worse than you'll ever say..." Her eyelids were beginning to droop as her head slowly slumped forward, the medication that she was on obviously making her relax to a point where she could sleep. The Master Chief slowly took the young woman and helped her lay down onto the medical bed, covering her with the light blanket that was folded at the bottom. It had been a hell of a day for them all, and it promised to be an equally stressful night, too, now that Knossos was slipping below the horizon, guaranteeing the fourteen-hour night cycle for the planet. Who knew what that would bring pertaining to the Batarians?

She had one more person to visit, and this was going to be a good deal less pleasant.

Master Chief Valentino left the room that Collins was now asleep in, moving from it to the next one where Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard was interred in, the privacy field up. Stacy pressed the button to give her access and returned it on before she turned to look at her Alpha Section Leader, the redhead also on the medical bed. Jane was laying on the bed in her ballistic suit with the left leg rolled up over her knee, a bandaged wrapped around the middle of her lower left leg from when she had been impaled. The harpoon had been cut on one side and extracted, local anesthetics applied to numb the painful process while antibiotics and amino acid beta-protein cocktails aided in the healing process. Thankfully, harpoons were designed to be limited in damage, as the Batarians didn't want to cripple potential slaves, bringing down their value. By the time morning rolled around, Shepard's leg would be mostly healed, putting her back to at least limited duty until she was fully cleared by Lieutenant Abershom, the SSV _Charger's_ Physician's Assistant. As for the woman herself? Jane was looking at her with reddened eyes, obviously having been crying. What had potentially been a capture had been thwarted by Collins in an act of desperation and sacrifice, saving the Petty Officer from a fate no one wished for; captured by slavers. But that's not what was making the Non-Com weep.

Stacy knew why, and she didn't blame her.

"Master Chief, I'm sorry, I..." Jane began, her words punctuated by wracking coughs of grief, the woman obviously in a strong emotional state. Val sighed as she found an available folding chair and set it next to the bed before sitting on it, taking one of Shepard's hands and holding onto it. It was as Sam suggested; Jane was probably doing worse to herself than Stacy ever could with words. "I saw them, and all I could think of was New Eddie and my father, and the screams, and the..."

"Shhhh... it's okay, Jane." Stacy said in a comforting tone, gripping the woman's hand tight, looking at her. "I've been there a time or two myself with flashbacks and PTSD from Shanxi. Sometimes it just looms and gets the better of us." Psychology and medications had made good gains on such things, but sadly dealing with such things was always a personal endeavor, and some wounds never did heal. "I know why you did it. And I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing were I in your position. But we can't afford to do that, can we?"

"No-o-o..." The word was stuttered with tears as the Non-Com took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm herself. "God, Stacy, I got fucking _harpooned_... and it was no one's fault but mine. I just saw those Batarians, and all I could see was red. I barely even felt when I was being hit." Shepard's armor had displayed a few telltale marks of bullet strikes from when the rounds pierced her shields, not to mention the gaping hole from when the harpoon had impaled into her leg. "All I saw was the look on my father's face when he was dragged away." The redhead's eyes were exuding tears, that moment in time obviously surfacing with the trauma of it as well as the day's events. A Mindoir survivor in the middle of defending against a slaver's raid? It... was honestly to be expected, which was why Stacy and Royce both agreed that keeping Jane in the Marshal's Office as oppose to out in the city had been the wiser choice. Jane was a good sailor, smart and dedicated, with a good head on her shoulders and a tendency to do the right thing even when no one was looking. But this wasn't a normal situation, and Jane was a survivor of something terrible.

"You got lucky, kiddo. No bones about it." Val said softly, seeing the redhead look back at her. "You got real fucking lucky. Collins went and did some straight-up heroic bullshit to go and save your ass, and she did. And I'm grateful, too. You're a good sailor and a good MP, and I don't want to lose any of my people, especially to _stupidity_..." she made sure she emphasized that, "but at the end, everything turned out okay, didn't it?

"No, it did not." Stacy replied after a moment's silence. Jane kept silent, too.

"Because of your recklessness, I now have _two_ people in the clinic." Val explained, her tone normal and even. The Petty Officer's eyes crinkled up, realizing what Stacy was saying. "That shuttle could have launched another harpoon right at the person who risked _her_ life to save _yours_. Sam put herself in danger out of nobility while you did it out of selfishness and vengeance. How would you have felt to see a metal rod stuck in _her_ leg?"

There were no words, but Shepard's eyes bore mute testimony on how she felt about that.

"I know what would happen then." Val was relentless, her tone never changing, her voice never rising. "Sam would have done something selfless, because she's a cop. She would have done her best to find a way to get _you_ free at the cost of her own freedom. And you would have watched her get pulled into that ship because of _you_. Do you know what would happen then?"

" _Yes._ " The word was barely audible, nerveless lips barely moving as Jane obviously forced herself to suffer Val's gaze, knowing she earned it, knowing she deserved it.

"You know what she is, right? Autistic?" The Master Chief asked her Alpha Section Leader, seeing the Petty Officer nod. Both Val and Royce knew to be on the safe side, and Stacy suspected that Sam might have told Jane, considering that Jane had related her experiences from Mindoir with the Marshal. "She's in that room because she suffered a breakdown or a mental collapse; I don't know what it's called. She's suffering that because she had to see that, she had to act. I can and probably never will appreciate how much she has to fight to do what she does, to appear like one of us. Autistics... they value friendships and people they trust. Taking a fragile mind like her own and watching someone she trusts being zipped away? It likely shattered her mind temporarily, though she was too determined for you to suffer that fate to let it stop her. But now she's in the other room, and what I saw _disgusted_ me, Chief Shepard. She's in that room, zonked out on anti-depressants, suffering. Why? Because _you fucked up_." The redhead winced at that, but didn't argue.

"You left your post and endangered yourself." Val continued, calm but relentless. "She pulled your ass out of the fire. Now she's the one suffering because of your actions." Jane said nothing, seemingly curling on herself. "You're leg? You'll be up and walking tomorrow, probably ready for action before lunch. Her?" Stacy just shook her head. "Psychologists that specialize in Autism Spectrum Disorder can only guess and hypothesize, and we're stuck with pill-poppers. I have no idea when she'll be better... or even if." Stacy hated twisting that knife, but it was true. She was now down two men; one due to her own reckless stupidity, and the other from her own damaged mind. At least Sam was doing the right thing, and probably would have said the cost was acceptable. "You will march your ass into that room and you will be there for her. Hold her hand, get her water, I don't give a shit what. She... called you an anchor." The Texan sighed as she fought to calm herself down. "You did bring her back from whatever she was suffering back in the Market Square, meaning that whatever you mean to her, it helps. She... cares for you, I think."

"I know." The redheaded woman replied, closing her eyes. "I could see in her face when she dove for me, and again when she held me afterwards." Jane looked to Stacy, her face pained. "I don't even know what I was thinking at the time when I kissed her on the roof. Spur of the moment thing while reminiscing about Mindoir, and just... a nice moment." Stacy could only grunt at that. She hadn't even known that Shepard was into women, and she had known the Petty Officer for almost two years now. That meant that she either played her affections _very_ close to the chest, or... she didn't do anything about it to need to keep it secret. The Navy held a pretty dim view about same-gender relationships. "I probably shouldn't have done it, but I thought we were alone and... I'm just so _tired_ of being afraid."

"That I can understand." Val replied softly, her tone almost motherly. "It's rare we ever get a chance to be able to find something that we truly want without a thousand things trying to stop us, compromising our happiness for values. I know that battle all too well. Just... please be there for her if you mean it. And if you don't, best tell her now before you really break her heart."

"You... don't care that I like women?" Jane asked, a little nervous. It wasn't without merit, for Stacy had seen others suffer because of it in the military.

"Galaxy's enough of a fucked up place to be stepping in on what people consider right and proper." The Master Chief said softly, looking the Petty Officer right in the eye. "We should all have the right to love whomever we wish without reprisal. Of course, we live in less than a perfect world, so... we just got to make do." Stacy took a long breath and even longer sigh. Today had been one of the tough ones, but it hadn't been bad. Shepard had the worst close call, the only person to be harpooned. There had been a few light casualties, mostly due to the fact that the Systems Alliance Military had been ready for the Batarians, and the Batarians themselves were armed with non-lethals in a gunfight. They arrogantly flew right into an ambush, and almost all of their ground forces had been killed, while ten of their twenty-four shuttles had been damaged or destroyed. That would just send whomever was in command back to the drawing board; the second round wouldn't be nearly so easy. "Go to her, and make sure she's doing well." Stacy said at last, looking at the Non-Com on the bed. "It could be that seeing you helps her, and I don't doubt she might need that help. We all owe her big time."

"Me especially." Shepard replied knowingly, patting her own left thigh. "I'll do what I can. I just wish... I wish I knew what to do."

"Don't we all?"

* * *

"Hey, you."

Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard had been dozing off, sleeping in a makeshift bed near Marshal Sam Collins when she heard a voice speak to her. Jane blinked the sleep away as she sat up slightly and looked over to her left to see that Sam was awake, laying on her medical bed still, but her blue eyes open and aware. The lighting in the _ad hoc_ Medical Clinic room, what was once a jail cell, was on a low lighting scheme where it was pale enough to see where one was going without annoying the eyes of those who might want to sleep. The Petty Officer had finally shooed off the Navy Medical Corpsman, who had been popping in once an hour while the Marshal slept to 'check up on the patient'. After it had rolled past twenty-eight eighteen (midnight for Therum), she had officially used her rank for personal gain and told the attending Corpsman if he woke her up one more time 'checking up', she would try out her amateurish skills in prostate examinations with her boot. The Corpsman got the point and did not come back in. A quick chrono check on her Omnitool showed it to be oh-four-oh-three; still early morning. Sam had been asleep for almost twelve hours.

"Hey." Jane rolled over to look at the younger woman, propping her head up with her arm as she faced the Marshal, who had merely turned her head on her pillow to look at Shepard. "I know it seems redundant to ask, but how are you feeling?"

"I... better. Better than earlier." Sam replied softly, the soft lighting disguising what her eyes might be doing and some of her facial expressions. "I had an episode, Jane. I... I thought I might have outgrown them."

"That wasn't your fault. It was mine." Shepard interrupted, sliding her hand toward one of Sam's, finding it under the blanket and gripping it. "I got stupid and broke rank, and I exposed myself. And... and you had to watch me get harpooned and dragged." That moment came to her mind quickly and clearly, the wrenching pain in her leg just a ghost of a memory, but the terror of it was a scar that would never heal. "I remember... I remember my father's face when he was dragged away with a harpoon through his side, his fingers digging into the street to fight against it as he screamed at me to run, to run away. I... I did the same thing to you, except that I _knew_ better. I fucked up big time, Sam, and I put this on you and _I'm sorry._ "

The Non-Com had to fight back the sob that was building in her throat, her words thick and filled with sorry. God, Stacy was right. She had let her anger get ahead of her, and she became a victim of what she feared most. Worse, she dragged Sam into it. What would she have felt if it had been Sam taken because of her selfish folly, to let another human be captured because she just wanted to plug some throwaway troopers? Shepard wouldn't have been able to look in a mirror for the rest of her days if that came true. Now Sam was suffering from whatever was affecting her because of what Jane had done. Those Batarians were just militiamen! They would have died regardless, taken down by the Marines and NST's in the battleline that was situated at the front of the Compound! She just... she wanted to kill her pain and anger, to let go of the fear and the trauma that lived within her, drown it in blood and misery, her own or others. But not at the cost of someone else.

Jane felt Sam squeeze her hand.

"Jane?" Collins looked at her, shifting her body so that she was facing the Petty Officer while laying down, moving a little to get comfortable. "Jane, I did what I did because I couldn't stand to see someone getting taken. That would have been worse for me that what did happen." The younger woman went silent for a moment, looking away before returning to look at Jane. "I... couldn't let that happen to you, Jane. I..." Sam's voice petered away, but the way she was squeezing the Petty Officer's hand told Shepard all she needed to know.

Girl had a crush on her.

"Hey." Jane gave her a reassuring smile, reaching over with her other hand and brushing away some of Sam's short, spiky brown hair from her face, her banes threatening to get into her eyes. "I'm grateful, I really am. When you grabbed my hand, I couldn't believe that you did that for me! You held on, you didn't let go. You... you saved my life, Samantha. Traditions dictate that I'm suppose to let you ravish me."

"W-what!?" Collins squawked, and even in the dim light of the soft illumination of the med room, Jane could see her blush furiously. That had the Petty Officer laughing out loud.

"Oh God, that was completely worth it to see you blush like that! You have the most adorable blush!" Shepard chuckled as the younger woman continued to blush, though a small smile crept upon her lips. The Non-Com removed herself from her bed and slid over onto Sam's, forcing the brunette to slide over a little as Jane laid on the same bed as Sam, their bodies almost touching as she found herself looking at the younger woman, seeing her trembling slightly. "I'm... scaring you?"

"A little. Just... nervous and confused." Collins admitted in a sheepish voice, her eyes on Jane's. "I... don't get people easily. It's like trying to find the right puzzle piece to fit a situation, and if I've never experienced it before, I get... lost." A soft hand went into Jane's, fingers sliding into her own, finding the spaces in between to intertwine with them before they held on. "Contact... helps. Makes it more real, more... present."

"When we were on that roof, when we were talking," Shepard began, "I... had this moment. I looked at you while you talked and I couldn't help but feel this tug in my heart, pulling me towards you. I don't even know why I did it at first, but I held your hand, half expecting you to question me why I was doing it. I was so ready to pull some excuse out of my ass in case you got angry or offended by it. When you didn't, I thought it was right, that... maybe I found something worth holding on to. Military doesn't like same-gender relationships, and trying to get into one while serving is hard. It can cause a lot of issues while you're in, and... I never really found a woman worth that kind of stress and struggle to make it really worth it. I want to be an Officer, to command a ship in space, to feel like what I was doing truly mattered. Even filled out the papers to go Blue-to-Gold.

"Then... I met you."

"You know what I saw when I first met you in the SA Compound, the first time you took off your helmet?" Jane asked, looking at the younger woman. Sam shook her head. "I saw this larger-than-life _girl_ who had done more with her life in a couple of weeks than I had ever done in a couple of years. I'm an E-6 with four years in, which is a pretty incredible feat in itself, but you landed upon what happened to be one of the worst things to happen since Mindoir and you were responsible for nailing those assholes to the wall. I... was pretty impressed. No," the Petty Officer snorted, correcting herself, "I was pretty enamored. I think all of us felt it in that room the moment you said you were going to nail your fucking boss and shove him in the hurt locker. You were... pretty damn intimidating, righteous even. Pretty sure everyone fell in love with you a little bit then, for the right reasons." That had Sam giggle a little. Jane slid an arm under Sam's head, letting the younger woman rest herself on her bicep. The brunette looked at her as she pulled herself in a little closer, tentative hands slipping onto Jane's' sides where her waist was most narrow. Her eyes were expressive as she looked upon the redhead. In this perfect moment it was just them and nothing else, the world held at bay.

"Then you kissed me." The statement was given, breathless and declarative.

"Then I kissed you." Shepard smiled as she stared into Sam's eyes, getting lost in her blue orbs. She was close enough to see them dancing a little, not the restless shifting she had seen before but as if she was doing her best to absorb everything about this moment at once. The Petty Officer took her right hand and brushed Sam's cheek with the back of her fingers, letting her knuckles caress the smooth skin, making the younger woman shiver slightly. "I... was pretty sure you were going to chew me out or rip my head off. I never asked if... if you might possibly like me in that way, so I took a pretty big chance, hoping for the best."

"I'm rather glad you did." Collins said, a little embarrassed as she pulled herself in a little closer, their bodies slowly beginning to touch; toes and knees meeting halfway, while hands slipped around, holding the other. They were separated by mere inches. "If you had asked, I might have stammered and tried to say something logical to hide the fact that I would have been afraid to think or answer. No one's every approached me in that way before, so I've never... really got to learn what I might like or want. I've spent so long on helping myself that I don't think I discovered if I had preferences or not."

That had Jane a little sad; poor girl's life was one big struggle, wasn't it? She didn't even know herself what she wanted in the means of companionship because no one had bothered to try. If it had been some nice boy? Sam would have been okay with it because _someone_ took that chance to try and get to know her. That was what mattered to her; not the person, but what they meant to her. It was... honest, and sweet. Jane wondered if Sam even cared about such things as genders or descriptions. Perhaps someone such as herself didn't even think of such values, only looking at the person himself or herself, not their form. Pity more people weren't that way.

"This... is nice." The Autistic woman said softly as she brought her head a little bit closer, almost laying her head on Shepard's shoulder. "It's comforting, inviting." Jane was quite aware how physically close they were to one another, how their arms were holding each other and their legs were starting to slide into one another's. Her body ached for that touch, a tender longing that was building up inside of her. She pulled the younger woman closer, their bodies slowly pressing together as she held Collins for the first time, her arms fully wrapped around the Marshal's body, feeling her lithe figure in her arms, the curves and swells of her body pressing into Jane's. Sam gasped a little bit, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked at the redhead with nervous trepidation, seemingly at war with herself.

"Are you... okay with this?" Jane asked softly, her face mere inches away from Sam's; the brunette's breath coming in short, harsh gulps. Her blue eyes were completed focused on her own as her hands held onto her as if she were a life raft.

"Nervous." The young woman admitted sheepishly, a small smile on her lips. "A little scared, but... not in a bad way. Just... new. Unexpected." Her head buried itself further into Jane's shoulder, a sigh of content coming from her throat as her arms slowly encircled around Shepard's waist, her hands going to the center of her back, rubbing it softly. "I... like this." Sam's hands slowly slid up Jane's back as they tightened around the redhead, bringing her into an embrace. Shepard found herself holding the brunette, breathing in her scent, warm and pleasant, feeling the younger woman breathing soft and steady. "I think I know what 'butterflies in the stomach' means now. Kind of... tingly." That had Jane chuckle slightly as she felt the younger woman press her face into Shepard's neck, and the soft feel of lips pressing against the soft skin of her neck had the redhead shiver slightly, goose bumps decorating her arms. The sensation was pleasant, of course, but the tentativeness of the younger woman made it feel a little more special, the first explorations of someone who had been secluded for so long.

"Tingly is good." The redhead admitted as she stroke her hand through Sam's hair, her fingers entwining through the hair that didn't go past the nape of her neck, tufts of hair separated from the rest in spiky sections that slightly stuck out or curled a little upward. Jane pulled her in for another kiss, and she found Sam to be a bit more of a willing participant this time. Now that she wasn't ambushed and having her first kiss, the younger woman was obviously more comfortable and willing as the Petty Officers' lips met hers, the kiss evolving into several in which their lips never left. Jane couldn't say how long they were doing so, except that during the activity, she had somehow found herself on top of Sam, the brunette lying on her back, holding the redhead close as Jane laid more-or-less on top of her. The young woman's body quivered when their lips finally parted, gasping slightly as her blue eyes started to shift back and forth slightly, nowhere near as much as they had before, more like a nervous tic than a noticeable trait. She found it rather cute, actually. "Just your body signaling that you like what's happening."

"Signaling..." The blue eyes went wide as the pupils expanded slightly, the wavering going fierce for a moment before the black circles centered in the blue irises shrank back to normal, her eyes going calm and focused. "Signals. They were monitoring signals." Her voice was quiet and distant, deep in thought. Shepard realized quite quickly that the mood had changed, and saw the Autistic side of Sam's mind hard at work. "We can contact them. We can contact for help."

"Well... that's good news." Jane replied as Collins returned to the present. "Who are we talking? Tenth Scout Flotilla? Second Fleet?"

"The ones that helped me clear Revan." The Marshal replied as she gently rolled Jane off of her, her mind completely focused on her task. "They found me because I was accessing something that they were monitoring, something that doesn't involve a dedicated comms buoy or even access to one."

"Who are we talking about?" Jane asked, curious as she watched Sam stand up, dressed only in her skintight ballistic suit. "And you might want to wear something else than a Catwoman costume." The answer that Sam gave had Jane's jaw almost literally hitting the floor.

"The Office of Special Tactics."

* * *

Author's Note: To this day, what we truly know of Autism (identified as Autism Spectrum Disorder) as oppose to theory and conjecture can pretty much fill a thimble, as each individual has their degrees of reflection, capabilities, and difficulties. For Sam, my theory is this; her mind has difficult processing information into the correct locations in her brain (i.e., visual information going to the visual cortex of the brain, etc.) as everything is processed _at once_ with _all available_ parts. Imagine that each of your sense is a data file; audio, visual, tactile, olfactory, and taste. Imagine the best high definition video camera running constantly in the Megapixel range, with a 60-channel audio track for a soundtrack, add sensation, smell, and taste (each an equivalent of megabytes per second) and have a computer compute this. This is your brain _every second_. We literally don't remember some 99.9% of anything we come into contact with. That powerful memory that you do recollect? Probably due to importance, chemical reaction, and emotional response. Walking back and forth from points A to B? We just skip over those. My theory is this; an Autistic mind has difficulty distinguishing the difference, a supercomputer that is absorbing all, unable to selectively toss out what it doesn't need at the time. Like that YouTube option to pick a lower quality video to save data, but unable to do so. This isn't to say that they are slower, quite the opposite. I think they are drowning in HD when we're piddling about with a VCR. So that's what I'm making Sam; an Autistic with a supercomputer brain who has at least discovered _how_ to interact through the myriad of distractions and ceaseless bombardments of information, like driving around with a pair of binoculars. She doesn't always succeed. Whenever she has a 'moment', I begin describing _everything_ in a pattern that is generally known as descriptive value; no pronouns, quick blurbs, with equal value towards all. And thank you Psychology classes on memory and thought processes.

In the US Military, there are several categories to describe a medical emergency; Convenience, Routine, Priority, Urgent, and Urgent-Surgical. For those familiar with the 9-Line Medevac procedures, you'll recognize these. I'm not sure what EMT's or Police use, but since this story is based on what the Military uses, the Systems Alliance Military still uses the 9-line Medevac.

Acebutolol - The generic name for beta-blocker medications, used to reduce panic attacks and high-blood pressure. Fast-acting.

Effexor - The medication-specific name for venlaxafine-series Anti-Depressant medication. Somewhat fast acting, though a regime is require to be effective.

Klonopin - The medication-specific name for clonazepan-series Anti-Anxiety medication. Long lasting, but not immediate.

Risperidone - The generic name for anti-psychotic medications, used to treat schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and irritability caused by autism. A common brand name is Risperdal.

Xanex - Alprazolam is a benzodiazepin used to treat anxiety disorders, panic disorders, and anxiety caused by depression. A popular anti-depressant.

"...used her rank for personal gain..." - In the Army, there is a guideline for Non-Commissioned Officers, called the Creed of the Non-Commissioned Officer (or just the NCO Creed) that is a good baseline in what is expected out of an NCO in a general manner. One of those lines states "...I will not use my rank for pleasure, profit, or personal gain/safety...". I assume that the Navy has something similar.


	23. Libera Nos A Malo, III

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 22 2175**

* * *

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino, Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, and Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard all stood in the office of the Marshal of Therum as Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins sat at her desk, working on one of her terminals. Each of the Navy Non-Coms were looking at the Marshal of Therum as she typed on the Haptic keyboard, her blue eyes fixed on the monitor.

"So," Sam began as she continued to work on the program that drove the alignment of the dish of the Colonial Transmitter that was located in the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation Compound, "what I need to do is move the Colonial Transmitter into an alignment position in which it can transmit and receive from the Knossos Relay, and then program it to follow the Relay as Therum rotates. This could take a few minutes to several hours to do, but I'm already having the dish align to the Relay's position. It would be easier if the Batarians hadn't destroyed the Colonial Satellite Re-Transmission Relay, but I know we can still connect."

"And wit' it, ya' can talk t' the Office of Special Tactics." Royce asked, the Australian skeptical. Hell, they all were, and Collins didn't blame them.

"Talk? Not exactly." The Marshal admitted as she finished positioning the Transmitter, the dish pointing in the sky towards the direction of the Relay some two hundred and twenty astronomical units away. Even at the speed of light, in which the Transmitter transmitted at, it would take around sixteen hours just for the signal from the Colonial Transmitter to reach the Relay. That was more than half of a Therum day just to reach it. "When I first got to the Marshal's Office as a Deputy, I was put in charge of what was coming in and out of FTL through the Knossos System, as well as what was going through Customs and their tonnage, and what they were declaring and how much. Essentially, I was put on pirate and smuggler watch." She stopped working on the terminal to look at the three Navy Non-Com's looking at her. "I noted discrepancies with a particular vessel, a Hyundai Mipo Dockyard Company _Kowloon_ -Class Transportation vessel. What was being declared through Customs wasn't matching its weight, and what they were supposedly transporting, Iron and Nickel, didn't match any known mining sites. So I thought to look at another source that might give me a better idea of such information without actually boarding a ship that never touched the ground.

"The Relay data of a Mass Relay itself." Sam informed them, steepling her hands in front of her.

"I thought..." Jane looked a little confused, looking towards Stacy, "I thought no one could make heads or tails of Relay data. Like, just a bunch of data streams that didn't really make much sense to anyone?"

"That's what I've always heard." The Texan thumbed her chin, looking thoughtful. "But then again, they didn't have someone with an expressed talent in hypercalculia, did they?" Val was obviously connecting the dots, having seen Sam work in ways that no _normal_ person could. "Someone that could find patterns in chaos, I take it?" The Master Chief had mentioned that she had gotten a Psychology Degree from the University of Arcturus, so she knew some of what Sam faced.

"In a matter of speaking, yes." The Marshal nodded. "It took me about two weeks to make any heads or tails of it, to break down the datastream of passing ships, using several that came in and out without any discrepancies as reference before the one I wanted returned. I was able to discover a great many factors out of it; mass, weight, tonnage, energy output, size, fuel expenditure, static build-up... the Relays literally account for just about everything pertaining to a ship. Armed with such knowledge, I could easily recognize a ship regardless of name, IFF, radar, or even visual inspection. A ship can change its' name and even who flies it, but the hull won't change, nor will the engines."

"Bloody 'ell." Royce muttered, shaking his head. "Ya' mean t' tell me that... what? Yer some blimin' bloodhound for ships?"

"Yes." Collins confirmed with a nod of her head. "Given enough time to analyze the data, I can pinpoint a vessel's point-of-entry and point-of-exit through any Relay system if I have access, time, and authority. Admittedly, I can only do it for the Knossos Relay for now, but theoretically, were I in a position to monitor several Relays, I could map where a ship has been. I could literally find where a ship has been and where it is located anywhere in the galaxy given enough time, data, access, and authority. I wouldn't even need to be in the same quadrant of the galaxy."

"That's... damn." Val pulled the unlit cigar from her mouth, thinking it over. "So... explain to me how that lets you talk to SPECTREs again?"

"I tracked what I thought to be a _Kowloon_ -Class smugglers' craft to Revan, using fuel expenditures and range to guess the system, and even the planet." Sam told the Texan, which had her nodding in both approval and congratulations. It said much when someone in the Navy with Stacy's experience could say something like that. "I had gone in alone thanks to Weather's deceit and my own naivety, tracking the vessel to Revan and following its landing point by tracing its discharge point and particle traces of its engine emissions in the planet." That had both Stacy and Royce nodding in approval. "While I was on the planet's toxic surface, I had been... joined... by a member of the Palavenian Hierarchy's Blackwatch, a Centurion Commando. We ended up teaming up and clearing the _Kowloon_ -Class vessel together and made our first discovery of babies upon the vessel, ready for transportation. I was led to believe that he too was investigating the possibility of smugglers on Revan, but I learned later on that it was a necessary deception for an undercover agent and his real mission.

"He wasn't there for smugglers or slavers. He was there for me."

"Um, wow. Holy shit." Jane replied, a little guffawed. "They sent a SPECTRE after you?"

"Not _after_ me, _for_ me." Collins reiterated, and that had all three Non-Coms looking at one another for a moment. "And there were three of them eventually, working as a team. They were sent to Therum to collect me because of my ability to use Relay data, confirming that not only could no one else do it, but also that no one in the Office of Special Tactics was able to replicate it, either. They wanted me because I was unique, because I have a skill no one possesses."

"Yeah, that would be right up their alley." Val nodded slowly, obviously thoughtful. "Traded words and insults with a Turian SPECTRE about... five years back or so, some little mission in which there was an Agent already involved and we ended up knocking heads together." The Master Chief just shook her head. "After a few playful swipes and some less-than-friendly ribbing, I actually got around to asking about that, what it would take to get a human into the SPECTREs, realistically. His answer was something along those lines; someone who could stand above the rest in some manner. Someone that could track a ship through a Relay? I'm surprise they didn't just kidnap you off the damn planet and whisk you away."

"I think they were tempted." Collins remembered with a ghost of a smile, remembering how Nihlus Kryik had asked her just that in the House of Horrors. "Afterwards, I was wounded and needed medical treatment, so they were unable to take me back at the time. But I've been talking to the Blackwatch member ever since, and he's..." The Marshal looked at the three sailors, unsure if she could continue. "They've actually gotten me an apartment on the Citadel, evidently."

"Fuck me runnin'." Mason whistled long and loud, crossing his arms as he leaned back against one of the bookcases. "So... they makin' you a Council Agent?"

"As I understand it, it's something similar for those of the 'minor' races." Sam replied, shrugging her shoulders. "But essentially? Yes, I think so."

"Holy shit." Shepard shook her head in disbelief. "I can see why you'd keep that one under your hat. I doubt anybody would believe you." The redhead looked at her for a long moment, frowning. "So how were they able to determine that you were able to do this Relay data thing?"

"Access." Collins replied, her voice soft. "I was looking up the data, and evidently the Office of Special Tactics monitors such things. When they saw that someone had accessed the Knossos Relay a few dozen times, they got curious as to whom and why. They... hacked my computer and discovered what I was doing. When they tried to repeat it, they found that they couldn't make heads or tails of it. That's why they sent three SPECTREs to collect me."

"And history would repeat itself if they saw you pinging the Relay a whole bunch of times." Val snapped her fingers at the realization. "You could theoretically call for back-up."

"Yes, but I've got to do it in a different way this time." Collins interjected. "Before, they didn't know who I was or why I was doing it. If I kept doing it now, they might think that I'm repeating the same thing; looking for ships. I need to send a distress signal without using words."

"Morse Code." Mason popped up immediately, getting Sam to look at him. "Yeah, Morse Code. Turians learned o' it back durin' the FCW whenever Alliance forces tried talkin' shortwave without interference. Any Turian FCW vets inna Office o' Special Tactics would recognize it, 'specially if ya led it off wit' an SOS." He put a finger onto the bookcase and began to tap on the wood in a pattern; tap tap tap, tap-tap-tap, tap tap tap. "They'd know it and recognize it. Since we don't got no ExtraNet or manuals on sig codes for any o' them other gits, we'd have t' use one o' our own. Turians would best recognize SOS, and then they'd know what t' use for the rest."

"And Morse Code was invented during a time before we could communicate over radio." Val added, nodding her head. "The whole thing's already mapped out with letters and numbers. They could look it up themselves and decode it. But I'm not sure who we would send a signal itself, though."

"I'll just refresh the data check in the timing sequence for the pulses to make the code." Collins replied, seeing the value of it. "Half a second for the long ones, quarter second for the short ones, and a full second pause for the next letter. I can get my terminal to do it for me if we load the Morse Code and pre-write the message before implementing it. And then we send it." It would still take sixteen hours for the Colonial Transmitter's signal to reach the Relay, but once it was sent, there was technically no way of stopping it. "What should the message be? Obviously, that we need help and the disposition of Batarian forces."

"Number of ships by type, and not to send some patrol fleet to investigate." Master Chief Valentino nodded, thinking it over. "Your normal run-to-the-mill Citadel Peacekeeping Fleet won't do the trick; that'll be a Heavy Cruiser in charge of about a dozen vessels at best. No, we're going to need a Planetary Defense Fleet; something led by a Dreadnaught, something that could potentially face down fifty-plus ships. And honestly, we don't know how many more ships there are, just what Captain Llewellyn was able to detect with the LADAR Ping. We also don't know where Battle Group _Moctezuma_ is, if they incurred any more losses, or what their fleet strength is. If I know the Captain, I'd say he's probably skirting some Gas Giant and using its magnetic field to disrupt sensors while deploying deep space recon problems and fighters to screenline the Battlegroup to keep on top of that Batarian Fleet. He may not have the teeth to hurt them, but he can knock out some of their patrols and smaller vessels, whittle them down and keep them on edge."

"Okay, so we need to make a message that is informative to what we know, what to expect, and what to bring." Collins thought it over, opening up a typing document on her monitor and began listing the details. "We've got at least one Batarian Dreadnaught, four Battleships, ten Cruisers, fifteen Destroyers, and twenty Frigates. We've got a Battle Group that will be good for small-scale actions, but nothing major or offensive. We're bottled up with about a hundred and thirty thousand people in No'burg with no way out. In need of rescue, medical, and supplies. Anything else?"

"Hardware specialists and people who'll know how to pull a control chip or a pacification collar." Chief Shepard replied quietly, her face haunted. "Batarian's will have this... auto-injector that they'll staple to the brainstem to take control of any prisoners quickly. If they nab anyone, that'll be the first thing they'll do. We'll also need a signal interruption device to interfere with the control signals to keep them from torturing people in front of us or initiating a Final Protocol."

"Final Protocol?" Sam asked, frowning. It didn't sound pleasant.

"Control chips come packed with micrograms of hi-explosives to prevent recapture and rescue." Stacy replied quietly, her own face hard. "Jane's right on that one. We'll need a high-gain pulse frequency modulation interference device." Collins typed that down as well.

"Okay. I can program my terminal to convert this into Morse Code and send it off through the Colonial Transmitter if one of you would give me the Morse Code Database to base it off of." The Marshal explained, beginning to type out the message in a way that was informative and efficient. "Just be aware that it's going to take sixteen hours to reach the Relay itself, and I have no idea how long it will be before we get any form of reception, if at all. How long can we expect any kind of Systems Alliance support?"

"Honestly? A week at least." Royce shook his head. "Unless som'un tries t' contact BG _Moctezuma_ earlier, they don't 'spect constant updates or commo unless necessary. Eldfell-Ashland back on Earth will prob'ly notice something is wrong first, but will prob'ly 'sume somethin' benign. At the worst, they'll send some satellite-jumper t' see what's up only for the poor prats t' get turned t' space dust. Any kind o' supply ship or transpo will likely be captured for goods anna the crew collected and processed if they aren't blown out o' the black. So... six t' ten days, an' who knows how many get carked investigatin'."

"'Carked' means dead." Stacy supplied when Chief Shepard looked to the Texan mystified.

"So we need the Office of Special Tactics to also inform Alliance Military Command to prevent some Corvette or Scout Frigate from walking into a death trap." Sam reiterated, adding that to the message. "If you could look this over Val, see if I'm missing anything important?" The Master Chief nodded as she moved over to the other side of the desk and quickly read what Sam had written. It only took a minute for her to read it in its entirety, and she nodded her head.

"It's a personal message." The Non-Com supplied, frowning for a moment. "One of the team members?" It was obvious that she saw the tagline, where it was addressed to an individual.

"Yes." Collins replied, feeling her cheeks getting a little warm. "I'd trust him to notify the SA Military as oppose to letting them be in the dark and risking sailors needlessly. I know this will end in blood, but there's no need to have brave men and women being thrown to the wolves if we can give them the intel they need. Nihlus will recognize that and send word." It was a good hope, but it was still a hope on her part. Sam prayed that her judge of character concerning Nihlus Kryik was on, and recognizes her need to protect her people. "Will it suffice?"

"Yes." Valentino replied with a soft voice, still looking at the message. The Texan was obviously working through some internal struggle, reading an obvious message meant not only for aliens, but the most elite group of Special Forces aliens in the galaxy, to ask for their aid. Sam could tell that while it didn't sit well for the Master Chief Petty Officer, she also understood that it was their best hope against their worst fear. "I'll work up the Morse Code if you want to program it in to get sent through the Colonial Transmitter." It said much that this lifelong Navy veteran was willing to set aside some dignity and pride to ask help from races that she probably didn't like or trust for the sakes of human beings. Sam got out of her seat and let Stacy take over as she looked at the message written on the writing program, and began to encrypt it into ancient Morse Code. Collins stood by one of the bookcases, and noted that while Mason was looking on to what Val was typing out, Jane Shepard was looking at her. The redhead had a face that Sam couldn't readily identify, something in between... uncertainty and caution? She had been quiet for the most part during the conversation in her office, only speaking a few times.

"Are you... okay?" Sam asked the Petty Officer, her own tone unsure. Shepard was looking at her with green eyes that seemed stormy, much going on behind those green orbs.

"Maybe. I don't know." The Non-Com finally replied quietly, letting off a long sigh. "I was... a little hurt that you didn't tell me, but then again I think that was just the selfish part of me whinging." The redhead shrugged her shoulders, looking over at the terminal where her two senior supervisors were hard at work. "I'm... not exactly thrilled at the thought of alien intervention. I know why you're doing it, and logically, I applaud you. But I'm still a little leery at the thought."

"It wasn't easy for me, at first, on Revan." Collins replied softly, looking towards Jane but really seeing the pea soup fog and the heavy gravity of the planet, the basalt surface pocked and crackled with the ages. "I... was worried that I would be used or betrayed. And I was, but not by them. I guess... that colored my perspective some, just like your past colored yours." That had the Petty Officer nodding thoughtfully. "I never would have survived Revan if it hadn't been for them; I doubt I would have made it through that first room. The House of Horrors would still be there, and I would have been an unwilling addition to it because of human greed." Sam had to close her eyes to that, a flash of memory striking her like lightning as she remembered seeing all those women on the tables, naked with swollen bellies, awake but unaware. What if she had been one of them? Her hands started to shake as she felt tears cascading down her cheeks.

"I remember that room... with all those babies... just _lying_ there..." Sobs wracked through Sam as she felt Jane's hand go on her shoulder, holding her up and comforting her at the same time. "The first one I saw was this little Asari girl. She... she really didn't look that different... with her pudgy arms and round tummy... she looked _asleep_ and..." The sob turned into a choking cry as she felt gentle arms embrace her as Sam pressed her face into the hollow of Jane's shoulder. "They were just abandoned there in _piles_... discarded and unwanted just like _me_..." She couldn't hold back the flood as the memories pressed harder and she lost control, weeping out loud as she held onto Shepard to keep from falling to the ground, holding on as the raging storm of her emotions and scarred soul surfaced hard and fast. She wept into Jane's shoulder as the redhead held her close, smoothing her hair back as she held Sam close, comforting her. It felt like everything was bubbling up inside of her, all the nightmares that she suffered when she slept coming out and striking her while she was awake.

"You know that's not true, Sam." Jane whispered to her, slowly rocking her from side-to-side, the warmth of the redhead comforting her as the grief still twisted deep inside of her, like a fist squeezing at her heart and wringing it out. "You know that you've got us, that we're here for you." Collins just clutched at the Petty Officer, holding onto her in her time of need. She didn't know why she was feeling this way now, why it wasn't coming at night during her dreams, like it usually did. It was like a knife being pulled out of her heart, hot and cold at the same time, grief leaking from the wound. She held onto Jane, the taller woman an anchor against the sorrow that clutched at her heart and twisted her soul, holding the flood of pain at bay. She felt her face being touched as the redhead placed a gentle hand under her chin so that Shepard could look into her blue eyes, the Petty Officer's own green eyes looking at her with compassion. "I'm here for you, okay?" The older woman promised, giving her a reassuring smile. "You've been through a lot, Sam, but you don't have to do it alone anymore."

"Thank you." The younger woman choked back a sob, closing her eyes to fight back the tears that had poured from her eyes, to fight for control. The unexpected emotional outburst had taken her by surprise, had slipped by her normal control and taken over. Now that she was taking the reigns back on her emotional state, she opened her eyes to look back at the caring face of Jane Catherine Shepard. _"Thank you."_ She said once more, reiterating how she really felt, trying to express more than just words.

"I... understand what you're going through." The Sailor told her, her voice soft but understanding. "Perhaps not in the same way, but I know that pain. I had more than a few grief counselors myself for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder to help me handle my own pain. Didn't always succeed, but it was better than trying to tough it out and coming up worse." Sam frowned at the thought, trying to imagine the seemingly tough-and-strong Shepard seeing a psychologist. Obviously the woman was smart enough to recognize when she needed help. "I would suggest you look into it, with others if not counselors if you don't feel comfortable with psychologists. I imagine you probably have seen enough of them concerning your Autism that you might not want to walk into another office again."

"A grief counselor would be better than a behavioral psychologist or a neuropsychoanalyist." Sam agreed, and to her own surprise, she found herself giving Jane a light kiss on the lips; her first time ever doing so. "You're... good to me, you know that? I never felt that anyone actually cared about me for me as oppose to just being another patient or session to go through. Too... clinical, impersonal. Always taking notes with nods and repeating the last words I said as a question, speaking tones instead of compliments, never understanding that everything was too much..."

"Sam, come back to me." Shepard caressed her face, and Collins shivered slightly at the contact, aligning her thoughts to what was in front of her, pulling her away from those distant lonely memories. "Look forwards, not backwards. You've grown since then, matured since then. You are who you are now because of _you_ , and you are perfect the way you are. There's no need to go back to that." The younger woman just nodded as she forced the memories away, keeping it in the moment, in the here and now. "Better?"

"Better." Sam nodded, still trying to rearrange everything right where it belonged, pushing the memories of her past to the back of her mind where they would not affect her, breathing out the stress and the worry with her tried-and-true breathing technique; breathing in deeply while closing her eyes, holding it for half a minute, and slowly releasing it, letting the emotional turmoil build up with her need for oxygen and then letting it exit with her exhale. Scattered thoughts subsided as she calmed herself, forcing everything right were it belonged. She opened her eyes and nodded to Jane. "Thank you." She gave a tentative kiss on the Petty Officer's cheek in gratitude, not wishing to make a scene in front of Stacy and Royce. "We still have a lot of work ahead of us, both Therum and... us." She was broaching the subject now, something she hadn't really had a chance to sit and think about. Were they a 'they'? What was this set of strange emotions and feelings she got whenever she found herself looking at this redheaded woman who was standing in front of her? After a life of being immersed in too much information, struggling to make sense of it all, she hadn't ever really felt any affection towards another person, nor recognized it in anyone else towards her. Now that she was, it left her slightly confused and giddy. She wasn't entirely sure she liked the situation, though she did enjoy the pleasant moments. Perhaps it was a worthy compromise.

"Finished coding the message, and it's being sent as we speak." Master Chief Valentino called out from Sam's desk, looking up from her work to find both the Marshal and the Petty Officer a little too close for decent company. "Ugh. Get a room."

"I heard an actual day off." Shepard mimed exuberance as she gave Sam a wink as Val snorted and Mason chuckled. "I haven't had one of those in... what year is it again?"

"It would be nice, but we've got a sky full of Batarians, and I doubt they spent the night resting on their laurels." Collins replied, making the taller woman in front of her grimace and nod. "That signal will take at least sixteen hours to reach the Relay, and hopefully someone is listening. Regardless, until a fleet shows up to the Knossos System, we'll have no idea, and we'll be on our own until them."

"Best start rousin' the troops." Royce commented, checking his Omnitool's chronometer. "Knossos coms up in half-an-hour, so best let the lads get a good breakfast in 'em. Next push the Batarians'll give won't be so sweet an' tidy like the last time."

* * *

Author's Note: WARNING! SMEXY! WARNING! SMEXY!

* * *

"Wake up, shavetail!"

Systems Alliance Marine Corps Private Blake Bell woke up to the feeling of one of his feet being kicked none-too-gently as he rested on top of an alumnisteel cargo container that had been converted into a residence for minors in the Bloodsalt District of Nova Yekaterinburg, his deployment bedbag protected by a SnapTent. The containers in the Bloodsalt had become impromptu beds for the Systems Alliance Marine Corps as they rested on top of the haphazardly placed structures, not bothering to try and take up residence or share with the miners that already lived there. What had once been tight quarters with six men living in the eleven meter by two and a half meter containers had gotten a good deal more cramped when the residence of the other colonial towns, homesteads, camp sites, prospector villas, and anywhere else where people were vulnerable to attack moved into the containers. No'burg was the host to exactly two Ground-to-Surface Defense Towers, a pair of twenty-five gram rail guns that could take out lightweight vessels such as shuttles, Corvette-Class vessels, and even Scout Frigate-Class vessels if intercepted fast enough. As the Private understood it, they hadn't been used yesterday because they wanted the Batarians to think they didn't have anything stronger, waiting to use it on some of the bigger vessels that would be slowed in atmo. So the people that lived outside of the Colonial Capital had been brought to No'burg for their protection... whether they agreed to it or not.

Evacuation had been a hell of an ordeal where Bell had been ordered to help out collecting the homesteaders living out in the harsh climates of Therum, making some of the more difficult and obstinate miners and farmers get onto the UT-40 Liberty-Class Transportation Insertion Vehicle, loading forty people at a time. Thankfully, one thing they had plenty of was shuttles and shuttle space; thirty-three shuttles had been used to transport the Marines, the Naval Security Teams, and the remaining crew of the _Corvette_ -Class SSV _Charger_ onto Therum for evacuation and defense. The locals were unfortunately stupid enough to think that either their tiny little container hamlets would somehow avoid Batarian detection, or worse, thought they would be able to hold them off with no real weapons of any kind. The Private had spent about eight hours coaxing rubes onto the shuttles with the aid of his Hadne-Keder M7 Lancer Assault Rifle, making four-dozen trips at twenty-five locals each in which his Marine squad stood in the middle of the shuttle for maximum occupancy. Thankfully, protests and arguments were short and ignored as Marines simply grabbed colonists by their arms and escorted them onto the shuttles whether they wanted to go or not, thirty shuttles snagging upwards of eight hundred people a trip while three UT-40 Transportation Insertion Vehicles and UT-32 _Kortugas_ to grab as many supplies as possible, mostly food along with anything that looked like could be used in the aid in the defense of No'burg. It had been a stressful day with the evacuation of Battle Group _Moctezuma_ , the collection of Therum colonists, helping build up the defenses and firing lines of No'burg, and finally the attack from the previous night.

It was everything he hoped it would be when he joined the Systems Alliance Marine Corps.

Bell looked over in his deployment bedroll to see the woman that had shared his fart sack with him, one of the local girls that was surprisingly not a prostitute or a miner-bopper according to Corporal Ernesto Mananas. She was one of the refugees from one of the other settlements of Therum, a petite and pretty girl that was probably just a couple of years older than his own sixteen, a bottle redhead that lacked the traditional cascade of freckles. Corporal Mananas had dug her out of whatever bolthole the refugees had taken to. After the battle, the Marines of Andromeda Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment of the SSV _Canberra_ celebrated their victory in the usual fashion; shit-talking, drinking, friendly fights, and the hunt for the most sought out creature in the galaxy, _women_. Blake had found himself drinking with the other Marines, celebrating his first action, a Light Jump who had earned his Combat Drop Badge. Mananas had gone off somewhere during the celebration and had sweet-talked the colonist girl back to the party, giving Bell a few knowing winks as the Corporal filled the girl with details of the battle and Bell's role in it, most of it heavily embellished. The Private and those near his rank had fired at dropping Batarians while the more experienced, higher-ranking Marines had harassed the shuttles. The four _Kanavor_ -29's that had come had been engaged and the forces dealt with extreme prejudice, the sixty Batarians that had dropped to the surface of Therum quickly whittled down and killed before finding cover or making a defensive action. The last remaining shuttle hadn't tried to drop its occupants, easily seeing how the favor of battle was going towards the Systems Alliance, and had pulled an airskid and put No'burg in its wake. Bell personally had gotten four kills, or at least the four he had fired up had died around the same time as when he had been firing at them, the Khar'shanians being engaged by multiple weapons at the same time.

Thus the party, the drinking, and the redhead.

He had been nervous in his SnapTent with the girl, who had told him her name was Vanessa, having helped her up on top of the containers to his assigned bedroll and lightweight, lightly-armored ballistic-cloth Elkoss Combine SnapTent. There was just enough room for the both of them as he found himself playing explorer with feminine curves and flesh, eager and nervous at the same time. Thankfully, Vanessa was a willing participant who had guided him towards things that she enjoyed, while discovering things that he never knew that he would like. Finding out that he was a virgin had only made her smile as she made the most of the situation by doing a little of everything with him, making what was undoubtedly the most memorable and exciting night in a male's mind into something that that was a lot better than drunken fumbling and quickly over. They had stayed up late into the night, and Blake was glad that Therum's rotation was longer than the standard Systems Alliance day; it gave him a few extra hours to catch up on the sleep he had missed being with his first girl.

It was pretty much the best day and night of his life.

"C'mon, _cabron_. Rise and shine for breakfast and some light PT." The voice of Lance Corporal Antonio Vargas came from the other side of the Snap'Tent's skin, his slight accent amused. "Unless you plan on continuing your _late-night_ PT session." There was definitely a hint of jockeying in the _Latino_ man's voice, both amused and teasing. There was no time limit for shit talking, after all. Blake found himself looking over to Vanessa, who was still lying next to him, half of her nude body draped over his own. She had woken up when Vargas began talking, and she shyly smiled at Bell as she wiggled her eyebrows at the mention of continuing what they had been doing the previous night. The way her bare thigh was sliding up his legs, how her hand caressed up his chest and towards his opposite shoulder as her breasts rubbed against his chest, how she slid herself on top of him and began to press her warm, wet crotch against his? Yeah, there was no doubt that breakfast and PT were going to consist of something else other than NavyRats and side-straddle hops.

"Can you make it like... thirty minutes, Lancie?" Blake asked, his voice slightly strangled as he felt that warm, wet spot rubbing into him, slowly gyrating against him. Vanessa was smiling at him in the same manner a cat smiled at a canary trapped in a cage as he asked for what he hoped to be an appropriate length of time, not wanting it too be _too_ short, but also getting the time requested. Bell pretty much had a hard-on that felt like it was made of of steel, digging into the trench in between Vanessa's soft folds. God, he was pretty sure that if he got any harder or stiffer, he'd probably rip right out of his own skin, he was throbbing and aching so bad. The female colonist must have known how much it was hurting him being so hard and so close to her feminine entrance because she angled herself just enough that when she dragged herself upwards against his throbbing length, the crown of his member was pushed into that heavenly trench, soft lips pushed to either side as he felt himself slowly plunging into the warm, wet, silky cavern that he was craving. He could barely think now as Vanessa slowly impaled herself on his incredibly stiff, massively throbbing erection. It was all he could do not to grab her hips and shove her down upon his member and rut into her like some feral beast. " _Please, Lancie."_ Blake could barely talk coherently as his the powerful ache in his loins was slowly being gobbled by soft cushioning walls that were as soft as velvet, sliding in easily with the aid of her own natural lubrication. When he felt the folds of her vagina pressing against his own crotch, fully immersed inside of her, the aching need to pull her under him and drive into her fast and hard, Blake gave off a strangled grunt of satisfaction.

"Ohhh... that's the spot right there..." Vanessa cooed softly as she gave off a pleased chuckle as the Private felt his crown pushing into something hard and nub-like inside of her. This must have been the mythical G-spot that he heard about from the other Marines. Vanessa seemed to indicate so with the way she bit her lower lip and her nails began to dig into his skin.

"Thirty minutes, kid." The Lance Corporal called out from the other side of the tent, chuckling. "Try not to make _too_ much of a racket, _ese_."

"No... promises..." Bell gasped through grunts as the woman who straddled him began to work her hips, and all thoughts fled away as biology took over. The next thirty minutes were going to be spent very well indeed.

* * *

Marine Captain Marc Michael Meer stood as Battle Captain in the Marshal's Office-cum-Tactical Operations Center as the morning slowly turned to mid-day, the Captain keeping an eye on the flow of information coming through the various signal/radio operators keeping in contact with the various Marine elements stationed throughout the city of Nova Yekaterinburg, as well as the crude radar that the Naval technicians from the SSV _Charger_ had rigged to detect any incoming vessel in atmo. Essentially, they were pretty much stuck with about the same level of tech that the people of Shanxi had back during the FCW, left with no real space defense and a couple of laughable low-megaWattage GARDIAN defense towers to intercept any kind of bombing runs and small vessels inbound. Right now, the most powerful weapon they possessed were some Elanus Risk Control Services ML-77 laser-designated missile launchers, a few emplaced heavy machine gun platforms like the Automatique Republik UA-571-C Zeus Automated Sentry Turrets with VI-driven Smart Trackers. Strictly speaking, this was exactly what he had been trained to do; with limited options and a place to defend, to make the most out of a situation until reinforcements arrived. Realistically, it fucking sucked ass because there were literally over a hundred thousand lives riding on the decisions of a couple dozen people, most of them in the TOC.

Being under a wet-behind-the-ears girl with a fancy Marshal's badge wasn't exactly making things easier.

Nominally, Meer knew that Marshal Sam Collins was in command; when Captain Rhys Llewellyn had the Marines drop onto Therum to prepare the defenses for the colony, all five Companies had been shuttled to the planet. Unfortunately, all five companies were separate, none of them belonging to a real Battalion, considered under the command of Captain Llewellyn, whose rank would have him as a full-bird Colonel, and thus given the Battalion-level command. Now out of contact, there were five Captains at the same rank but without any real idea who would pick up the nominal command of the Marine forces now on Therum, as none of them had been trained for such situations and scenarios. So his fellow Captains (excluding himself) had handed the whole fiasco to this _whelp_ of a girl who just happened to be in charge of the Marshal's Office for reasons he still had trouble accepting. Intrinsically, he knew that Marshal Collins was responsible for clearing and securing the House of Horrors on Revan, and that did earn her a good amount of respect in his book, especially since scuttlebutt suggested that she cleared the facility with only _four_ people (Deputies, he figured). That showed a level of tactical finesse and strategy that had him professionally admiring her. He had been in the House of Horrors, assessing the enemy combatants for intelligence, equipment, affiliations, and any other useful information while his men collected the bodies of the children in that one room. He had seen the body of the Krogan, especially with its SAMC-issued KA-BAR through the roof of its mouth. A DNA check had confirmed that the knife had been touched by none other than Samantha Lynn Collins, her records on file. The whelp had killed a Krogan with a _knife_. Who the fuck chanced that?

And now he was under the command of some nineteen-year-old hothead.

The other Captains; Alvelez, Mortimer, Kusenagi, and Branch, didn't share his opinions. Antonio Alvelez thought the Marshal like one of the lawmen of old; hard-as-nails and utterly not to be fucked with. Sam Mortimer always did think more with his penis, and was probably half-hoping that going along with the brash plan would score him a chance with her. Motoko Kusenagi was a practical woman to the core, and as long as _she_ didn't see a flaw in a plan, she wouldn't rock the boat. Michael Branch was a rather pathetic excuse for a Marine, lacking both a spine and testicles. That meant that Meer was alone in his assessment that in what was obviously a combat operation, a _Marine_ should be in charge instead of a _Marshal_. Admittedly, he understood that before the Batarians came, that Marshal Collins had to be in charge in accordance to the Systems Alliance Charter, that the Constitution that they all swore to uphold and defend had it to where the Systems Alliance Military had no external authority in times of peace. Yet this wasn't a time of peace. A fleet of fifty ships had come to reave Therum like they had Mindoir and a dozen others before, with a much more significant population than any of the others prior, perhaps even all of them put together. Yet with Captain Llewellyn currently in hiding, and the other Captains not willing to rock the boat, Marc was left with biting his tongue and keeping his cards close to his chest. Because the first moment he saw a mistake?

He was going to move in for the kill.

"Captain Meer."

The sound of a young woman's voice had him turn slightly from the holographic battleboard that was the representation of No'burg, with symbols and markers identifying friendly forces, barricades, strong points, defenses, and traps. Standing within a few paces of him was Marshal Sam Collins, wearing her Navy-issued Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor even in the TOC, armed only with her huge-ass Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver that was low-slung holstered on her left thigh. Her short hair was being held back in a simple ponytail at the back of her head, and her blue eyes were studying the battleboard.

"Marshal." Meer replied cordially with a simple nod of his head, turning back to the board. If there was any notification of flyers or landings anywhere within a thousand kilometers of No'burg, it would be populated on the 'board by the simple VI at almost the same time one of the Navy screenwatchers from the SSV _Charger_ would detect it. Unfortunately, their radar system was rather substandard, but it was better than nothing. Since almost all vessels entering atmo would perform a re-entry burn, the radar would pick up the high burst of thermal radiation increasing. Honestly, it didn't need to be more effective on-planet, but not being able to see past the planets' Kaman Line was a serious hamper. A few small Extranet satellite dishes had been pointed upward in the hopes of grabbing any kind of telemetry from the vessels now occupying Knossos Space, at least to get an idea what might be going on in the black, but nothing had been captured. It was a long shot, anyhow. "A word?"

"Step into my office." The Marshal nodded, obviously sensing that this would be about more than the current state of affairs. There were more than enough people to keep an eye on things without Meer hovering over everything, and he would only be a few feet away if someone hollered. Both Captain and Marshal entered into her office, which had been quickly converted into a small Rec Room for those off duty to keep those sailors from underfoot when they weren't on shift. Not that it was getting much use, but Marc appreciated that the Marshal was trying to keep the sailors and Marines sane in a stressful environment. Collins killed the small HV screen that was playing a Holovision show about sixteen people trapped on an island and forced to do obstacles for the chance to win some jackpot for being the last man standing. "What is it you wish to talk about, Captain?" The Marshal leaned against the desk that had been shoved to one corner to make room for a couch and a few chairs; obviously, it was her desk at one point in time.

"The timing of this." Meer started, looking at the young woman's blue eyes. "When I was in Annapolis, they made us study previous battles, to break them apart and find out where things went wrong and how they could have been better. I picked a cherry one; Mindoir."

"Just… be careful of saying that." Collins began, leaning over to look at the door for a second before returning to him. "One of our NST's in the TOC is a Mindoir survivor. She… hasn't gotten over it. Probably never will."

"Chief Shepard?" Marc asked, getting a curt nod from the Marshal. Well, that explained how they knew to prepare for EMP's and the style of attacks at the beginning. The Petty Officer had cut loose from the battle line to gun down Batarians, something that would have had her dragged over the coals UCMJ-wise. If she had been one of his Marines, she'd be in the brig for the remainder of hostilities so she wouldn't endanger the rest of his men. "No offense to her, but she was probably only aware of things on the ground as oppose to the politics of it. Did you know that Mindoir was a _response_?"

"I… didn't." Collins admitted, looking a little uncomfortable. "I was only fourteen at the time and… not exactly in the position to understand what was going when it happened." That was an interesting bit of information; it didn't sound like from lack of caring like one might expect from a young teenager. "So the Batarians did it as retaliation?"

"Yes." The Marine Captain replied, relaxing a little himself by sitting on the top portion of the back of a chair. "We had just gained an Embassy in the Citadel, and had applied for several colonial applications. One in particular pissed the Hegemony off; a planet called Camala. The Bats had settled it without Citadel approval, and had caught some heat from it. So when Camala got approved for _human_ colonization when Batarians were already there…"

"…They saw it as us taking something they thought rightfully theirs." Collins nodded immediately, getting the scope of it quickly. "Yes, I could see why hitting another colony and taking its people would seem like an appropriate response in their mindset. You are suggesting that this isn't random, that this is a response."

"Yes. The big picture." Meer replied, nodding. Girl was quick, at least. "You've been full-speed ahead since the moment you realized something was wrong, probably at the first instance you possibly could. You've bought all of us time, but you haven't had any to think _why are they here in the first place?_ "

"Shit." The Marshal muttered, looking away for a moment, and then to him. "I do know the answer now that you've brought that to light. I… should show you something, since you're trained and knowledgeable in such things." Collins stood up. "You're not going to like what you see, though."

"Understood." Captain Meer replied, wondering what the Marshal was about to show him.

* * *

Author's Note: Samuel Morse, the inventor of Morse Code, inscribed the code for the purpose of telegraph, when copper wire could only carry electricity in the form of low-wattage pulses. Telegraph existed even beyond World War I with services like Western Union, though telephone eventually took over. To this day, the US Navy still has a small course in Morse Code as a back-up when all other forms of electronic communications have failed. Morse Code and Braille will probably exist for quite some time as basic encryptology despite that they were never invented for that purpose.

Blake Bell is actually based upon a Private I once had who joined at seventeen (which is allowed with parent permission). There are many incidences in history of 'underaged' soldiers in America, one of the most famous being Audie Murphy, who went to be the most decorated American Soldier of World War II (and thus probably of all American wars). The idea of Child Soldiers is generally considered a _huge_ no-no in most every country in the world, though you see incidences of such in Africa and the Middle East, and I don't doubt that it happens in the Balkans and Chechnya. There is something severely wrong with your cause when you knowingly accept (or purposefully arm) someone who has barely hit puberty. If your answer was desperation, then perhaps you should have thought out your tactics better.

2/5 Mar - 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment is a real life unit in the United States Marine Corps. Their motto, "Retreat, Hell!" harkens back to WWI, in the Battle of Belleau Wood. When their forces arrived, a French Captain advised them to retreat. Captain Lloyd Williams looked to the Frenchman and replied "Retreat? Hell, we just got here!" He was killed later that day, gassed and injured by shrapnel. When medics came to get him, he refused them, also quoting ' _Don't bother with me, take care of my good men._ ' He died from artillery fire while being evacuated later that day. The 2/5 is the highest decorated Battalion in Marine Corps history, with several Medal of Honor winners as well as foreign awards for their actions. Captain Williams would not survive, posthumously promoted to Major and recommended both the Medal of Honor and Distinguished Service Cross (he received three Silver Stars, no mean feat), and his immortal words became the Battalion motto.

SnapTent - My own invention. A sealed tent that can be deployed with a flick of the wrists to instant readiness, it can be sued a temporary deployment housing in a wide variety of environments, and can come with a mini-atmo generator to regulate air pressure and content. It is lightly armored against small arms, and weighs in at three kilos. Basically, it is a ballistic-cloth two-man tent that doesn't require fiddling with rods to set up. Fuck you tanker rolls in a Fort Knox winter that I had to do in Basic.

Captain Marc Meer - For those that read the 'Hale/Meer Chronicles', you'd know that I used Jennifer Hale and Mark Meer as the fucked-up versions of ManShep and FemShep, albeit with different personalities (Meer was a complete asshole, while Hale was the atypical Marine, as well as the Mindoir Survivor and the Butcher of Torfan). Captain Marc Meer is not Commander Mark Meer, but instead a Marine Captain that I wanted to use to give an idea of what a command element does in battle; something that most soldiers rarely get to see while out in the field or battlefield. I served as my Captain's PSD Element (Personal Security Detachment) but generally I just carried an M-14 Sage and a M500 shotgun and made sure he didn't even stub his toes. Unlike most of my Commanding Officers, that particular one (Doug) was an awesome Captain and soldier, and a veteran of the Iraqi Invasion, specifically the Thunder Runs of Baghdad. I seriously would have taken a bullet for him out of respect and admiration.

For those who had read or were fans of my story _Mass Effect vs. Aliens: The Siege of Hadley's Hope_ , the UA 571-C is the Sentry Gun seen in the movie _Aliens_ , as well as the _United Space Colonial Marines Guidebook_ that I had converted for the MEvA Universe, calling it the UA-571-C Zeus Automated Sentry Turret with VI-driven Smart Tracker. In real life, the UA-571-C in the movie was a converted German WWII MG42 Machinegun placed on a tripod, and rigged with a joystick and a trigger. If we have drones today, why the _FUCK_ do we not have X-Box One Sentry machine guns. Srsly!

The Holovision Show I described is Survivor.


	24. Libera Nos A Malo, IV

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 22 2175**

* * *

Captain Marc Michael Meer found himself, in all places, the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation Colonial Administration Building, walking through the opulent corridors of the Admin building where one of the richest energy conglomerates in Alliance Space had come to exploit a planet and its own kind. He was following Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins and Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, one of the SSV _Canberra_ Naval Security Team Members and, as rumor had it, one very tough son of a bitch. Guy was Australian through-and-through, and it was easy to tell that the man was both an avid bodybuilder and close-quarters combat expert. This was the type of guy one wanted to have down that proverbial dark alley when shit got real, and it was obvious that he was the muscle in this little jaunt, the unspoken threat for whatever was about to happen. Though he was armed with only a Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms Gladius Battle Rifle and a Deterrence Rod (commonly known as a sick-stick), Marc didn't doubt that the man could probably break a Turian into pieces one-on-one. This was a guy that one of the older, smarter Krogan would look upon and give a nod of respect to.

Their trip took them below the ground level, towards whatever was the basement.

The lift took them to the appropriate level as Marc found himself exiting into a level that was obviously designed to be a bunker; no longer were the walls adorned with electronic picture frames of rotating pictures of Earth or Alliance Space, and the fake plants were all gone. Plasticrete walls were the main motif, and the impression they gave was 'last stand'. Obviously, Eldfell-Ashland wasn't one to cut corners or hope for the best, and had prepared accordingly. He even noted a heavy iridium-reinforced steel door of an actual bunker set into the walls, undoubtedly rated to survive orbital bombardment. The door was closed, and the holographic icon indicated that it was locked. Meer took a wild venture to guess where the suits went at the sound of panic.

"T'ink the traitors 'ave killed themselves off yet, Marse?" Mason asked, looking to the Marshal as they walked passed the reinforced door. "Perhaps dipped to cannibalism?"

"It's only been twenty-four hours… no, twenty-eight or so." Collins replied, mystifying the Marine for a moment. "I doubt they're nibbling on each other yet." To prove it, she went to the massive vault door and gave the view screen by the door a quick press of the button. The holographic screen popped on, blank for a moment, and then the face of a man appeared. "How are you holding up, Chief Whitaker?"

" _You can't do this to me! Let me out!"_ The speaker transmitted the man's voice, sounding both ugly and unpleasant. The Captain could see a few other faces behind the one identified as Chief Whitaker, looking just as angry. Meer briefly wondered what this was about.

"You know I can't do that, Marcus." Collins replied to the receiver, a hint of a smile on her face. "When you closed that door, it has a mechanical lock that releases only after thirty days. Can't be hacked, cut into, dismantled, or demo'ed. You're stuck in there for the next month. And that's all on you. Have fun." The young woman shut the view screen off with a smirk, Senior Chief Mason snorting as he folded his thick arms over his equally thick chest. "Local traitors who thought they'd get into the panic room and leave pretty much everyone else to die. Like Royce said, maybe they're resort to cannibalism. Besides, Chief Whitaker _was_ the head of the Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps." Meer merely grunted at that, finding the irony of it somewhat amusing. "Come, we go this way."

The Captain found himself being escorted deeper into the bunker that EAEC had established in its Colonial Administration building, finding a few small rooms connected from the main hallway. He was a little surprised to see a few of the private security guards keeping a relaxed watch on the inside as oppose to being outside where the threat of the Batarians would garner the need for more men. He didn't question it yet, obviously not having all the facts yet. It was obvious that he was about to. Two of the rooms were populated by what looked to be Eldfell-Ashland staff… no, only a couple of them, along with their families. It made sense immediately to him; these were the ones slated to go into the bunker that Chief Whitaker and his cronies currently populated. The Marine knew that there was a reason for that bunker; Executive-level officers of corporations knew inside trades and dealings, as well as high-level access passes and company intelligence. One of them could potentially devastate a corporation if taken and tortured, and such an action could likewise harm the economy. While it seemed cruel to protect one suit amongst so many supervisors and family members that undoubted lived in the Bunker, that one suit forced to give up what he knew could risk hundreds of thousands of jobs and millions upon millions of credits easily. It was a cruel form of algebra, to be sure, but that was why people such as himself existed; to make those kinds of hard, necessary decisions.

They reached the last room in the bunker, locked and guarded by no less than four EASC guards, all armed with Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifles, each of the men standing post at the door looking competent enough to make a Marine on guard duty appreciate it.

"Candy room." The Marshal said, looking to Marc for a moment, her youthful face set in a grimace as she looked at the door, and then back at him. "Only six people know what is behind this door, but what is behind this door is… very damaging, Captain. This may be the reason the Batarians are here. And we cannot let them get their hands on what is behind this door at any cost."

Marc looked at the Marshal after her confession, seeing her blue eyes zeroed in on him, never faltering. He believed that she believed in what she was saying, and the Senior Chief standing next to them certainly wasn't objecting to anything. The Marine was trying to figure out what would make the Batarians come in such force to Therum, to blatantly attack an Alliance colony without disregard. This wasn't some wildcat colony or independent off in the black outside of the Alliance Charter, hugging the borders of the Traverse. Mindoir had been one of those, which was why it didn't have an Alliance Fleet shadowing it. Therum was, and it had the Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla in the vicinity, watching the border. There were also at least three Battle Groups within a Mass Jump away. That would probably be enough to take on whatever the Batarians had brought, or at least enough to deny them reaving the colony, choosing to between fighting in space or trying to outmaneuver them. No, the Batarians had come with the intent to invade and capture, but according to the Marshal, there might have been more to it than that. He had already identified it, and she had something behind this particular door that would give him an answer.

Collins opened the door, and Marc was a little surprised to see ten people sitting in the room, trussed up in OmniCuffs and bags over their heads.

"Prisoners of yours?" Meer guessed, stating the obvious. That had the Australian MP grunt, his massive arms crossed against his equally massive chest. Jesus, the guy looked like he popped PED's like Tic-Tacs.

"Yes, but worse." The Marshal replied, her tone grim. "Some of them are former Deputies under arrest for corruption and collusion dealing with the Revan House of Horrors. One of them is the former Marshal of Therum, who will be wanted for high treason." That had Captain Meer grimace at the mere thought that a human would commit such a thing; high treason meant selling secrets to others, specifically aliens. "One is Nico Dekker, President to the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters." That had the Marine's eyebrows raise up, knowing exactly who that was. "Two of them are Batarians we haven't gotten identification for yet, but were bodyguards and, more than likely, SIU Agents. The last one is Garm Jor'raddah. The Jackal."

" _The_ Jackal?" Marc rounded on the Marshal, who looked at him with a face made of stone, giving away none of her thoughts. Jesus, he knew who the Jackal was, and a fair amount of the multiple crimes he was responsible for just in Alliance Space alone. Jor'raddah was quite literally the best fit of the worst-of-the-worst. And he was just sitting in some bunker storeroom? How the hell had that even happened? "Why is he even here?"

"We captured him… seven days ago. Right here in No'burg." Collins informed him as her blue eyes went back to the prisoner. "We did a bait-and-switch transfer with Fourth Fleet a couple of days ago to mislead anyone who might want Jor'raddah for their own purposes, a plan that Admiral Grissom had made to ensure the safety of the transport. They were to be picked up later today before all of this occurred, off in the Salt Flats outside No'burg. You asked why the Batarian Fleets might be here now? This would be it, but I can't fathom how they would know he's here when we walked him tar-and-feather style through the center of No'burg to convince everyone that he had left. Hell, my EN-mails had dropped off significantly after that, confirming that the ruse was successful." The Marshal went silent after that, but her face went dark with the implication. "Either something happened to Fourth Fleet that we don't know about, where the Batarians saw that the prisoners I did transfer weren't Batarians or Nico Dekker, or they have some other means of detecting his presence here. I hadn't thought about that. We still have him in the same clothes that he came with on Therum, and we collected everything in his possession as evidence, currently in our evidence room. There… was a device that was too small to be a bomb that we didn't recognize. It could be that it might be a personal tracking device."

"Well, considering the evidence in front of us, I think it's a safe conclusion to believe that the Batarians are here for the Jackal." Captain Marc Meer replied, thinking everything over. Years honed at the Military Academy in Annapolis to pick apart a situation from all sides and exploiting it to its fullness had him pondering what to do with such information. He couldn't blame the Marshal for the ruse; it was actually a good idea, something that Admiral Jon Grissom had approved of, and a likely consideration when moving such a high-profile target. It was probably likely there was a device that gave off the location of the Jackal that had the fleet of Batarians hovering over Therum. If so, that could be used to their advantage. "Obviously, someone of this caliber should not be recaptured by the Batarians. I can only imagine that his actions would be centered upon the Alliance and humanity, which is what we don't want. But keeping him alive will be in our best interest for the time being. Until they think him more of a liability than an asset, the Batarians will actually hold back some of their more devastating attacks to prevent from accidentally killing him, such as biowarfare, kinetic strikes, and chemical attacks."

"Agreed." The Marshal nodded readily enough. "Now we need to make sure we don't put a bullet into his head, as well as others, no matter how much of a good idea it may seem. Executing him will gain us nothing but more retaliation. As far as I can tell, sending him to trial will be the most positive outcome for all parties, for at the least the Hegemony will see it as a means to beat us in court if Garm is still breathing, and they won't dare retaliate against such a wanted man's capture. As much as it pains me to say it, we need to keep the Jackal alive." Collins frowned as she looked to the Marine Captain. "It haunts me to think that human lives are at stake because of scum, but that's something we signed up for when we took our Oaths. But it's the people of No'burg that will pay the price, and that is something that does not sit well with me."

"True, but how many lie dead because of him?" Marc replied softly, looking at the prisoners as Collins closed the door and locked it. "How many more would die if he were to escape and make it back to Hegemony Space, especially after you captured him? It is as I said; he would make us his focus, and what would that cost us. Better thousands than tens of thousands, plus whatever infrastructure he might damage in the process. A villain such as this really is a next-tier criminal in which more than just lives are threatened; property, economy, logistical… a being this good is a threat on so many levels. Keeping him alive is the right choice, Marshal. The retribution of such an action would be far worse than what we might face here. And if it had been, say, the Hierarchy or the Union that had taken him down, they would be facing the same problems and threats, so don't think that you did anything wrong. At the very least, the Batarian Fleet can only capture so many, as disgusting as it is to contemplate."

"That's why we have men such as yourself, Captain; to make those kinds of decisions, the best ones for more than just what happens to be around us." The young woman took a deep breath and sighed. "Is it right for me to continue on doing what I am doing, or would having someone such as yourself in charge be the better choice? And don't answer with your mind, Captain; I can tell you've been chomping at that bit ready to point out I'm a cop in charge of a military action."

"That obvious?" Well, the girl wasn't stupid or naive. That was good.

"Actually, you've been subtle about it, which is good." Marshal Collins replied, looking to Senior Chief Mason, and then back to him. "I'm not trained at such things, but everyone's trusted me to make the right decisions so far, and a change in command now could be more harmful than good even if you are the better choice. That's why I ask." That had Meer ponder what she was asking, and the girl had a point. Just up and changing things in the middle of a battle was bad for morale, and disruptive to operational tempo. Even if it was the right choice, it could lead to disaster. He reviewed it quickly, and found a workable solution.

"There have been incidences that worked well in the past; the brain in one place, the heart in another." The Marine replied, having her full attention. "You would be a figurehead, but still in the eyes and ears of everyone here. I run the more intimate details and coordination in the TOC while you're out in the open, playing white knight."

"'Behind every good leader is a better strategist'." Collins quoted Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery, much to Meer's amusement. According to Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, the young woman was a repository of information and knowledge. Smart, but not full of herself. That spoke well of her. "If we can do it to make it look like it's on purpose without anyone asking if anything wrong happened or mistakes were made, then we'll do it. I don't want our men thinking you wrested control from me or that I did something so flagrantly stupid that I had to pass off the reins to you." She slowly nodded her head, obviously making up her mind. "So, you shall by my Duke John of Alençon while I'm your Joan of Arc?" That had the young woman's mouth almost smirk. It actually took Marc a moment to get the reference to the military commander of the Saint of Lorraine's forces. Damn was the girl smart.

"Hopefully, a little less dramatic of an ending." The Marine Captain replied, making Senior Chief Mason snort in return, the Navy Non-Com having remained silent for the most part the whole time. "Best way to do it in my mind is for you to take charge and lead from the front, and leave the operations and planning to me, like an Operations Officer or an Executive Office. Since you'll be leading military, they'll understand what that means, especially if, for some reason, you go down and a chain of command needs to be established." That had the Marshal nodding, both in understanding and agreement. "Anything big I should know about beforehand?"

"I… yes." Collins flashed a look over to Mason, whose broad features frowned for a moment before finally nodding. Something else she had been keeping under her hat? "We… sent an impromptu distress signal several hours ago without the use of a comms buoy." That had Meer frown; how the hell had they managed that? "I discovered a… means to contact the Citadel on accident by accessing Mass Relay data several weeks ago. It doesn't need a comms buoy or even faster-than-light communications. Someone on the Citadel monitors such things, and I had gotten an unlikely response that ultimately led to the actions that I had taken on Revan, though after I had landed on the planet."

"Okay. Interesting. But you sent a signal to notify someone of our plight using a method the Batarians hadn't expected. This is good." Highly unusual, but if it worked, who cared? Normal communications would take weeks before hitting another buoy in the system, and that was if the Batarians hadn't destroyed that one as well. Using a Mass Relay as a transmission device? He had never heard of the such, but the Senior Chief seemed to know what was going on, and wasn't arguing about it. "So you contacted the Citadel because we wouldn't be able to monitor such things. And the last time you did so, you had gotten someone's attention. They sent someone to investigate, I assume?"

"Essentially." The Marshal replied, looking a little leery, her eyes juking back and forth from side-to-side slightly in a rapid fashion. He had seen that before, but didn't know what to make of it. "We met up on Revan, and it was with their help that we were able to take down the House of Horrors there with four people."

Meer had a sinking feeling on hearing that. Citadel help meant _alien_ help. He knew well what happened on Revan, and had known that four people had been responsible for its dismantling. He had naturally assumed four _humans_. But according to the Marshal of Therum, it had been just one human and three aliens. He remembered seeing the bodies of those who had aided and abetted the worst kind of slavery he had ever heard of. There had been humans and others in Revan, and as he understood it, Marshal Collins had spearheaded an investigation against the former Marshal of Therum (her boss) to implicate his knowledge as well as to prove that it hadn't been humanity truly involved in the sickening practice. Considering what Turians and Elcor did to those that messed with children and family, which had probably staved off a war. And she would have to have done so since there were already aliens involved, both in Revan, and those who had helped her. Citadel forces in that tragedy meant that the Citadel knew… the Council knew. That had him thinking.

"These Citadel forces…" Meer began, trying to think of whom would be responsible for such audacity… and coming up with only one answer. "SPECTREs?"

"Yes. I have a couple of friends in the Office of Special Tactics." Collins confirmed, nodding. She wasn't hiding it, at least, though she wasn't announcing it, either. "If someone recognizes the SOS Morse Code we sent, and one of them see where it's located at, they'll get the message. One of them could get the ball rolling better than, say, someone who might look at a map and figure 'human problem' and ignore it." Yeah, wasn't that the truth, the byline that seemed to appear on almost any alien talkshow involving PoliTalk. A friend on the inside of the Office of Special Tactics? That was something. And a friend might come running.

"So expect some friends." Marc nodded, ignoring his feelings on how he felt on the behalf of alien intervention and began to look at the situation realistically. They couldn't afford to be choosy, could they? "Morse Code was smart. Turians would recognize it."

"Royce's idea." The young woman smirked, her eyes steady as she passed off a look at the MP, who didn't even have the audacity to blush. "Let's get topside. We're not beating the Batarians chin-wagging them to death."

* * *

It shouldn't have come as any surprise to Marshal Sam Collins that the next push would be one standard solar day after the previous one.

" _Marshal, we've got incoming."_ Came the voice of Captain Marc Meer, informing her through short-range communications that was encrypted with military protocols to avoid having someone listening in, though it could be jammed through high-gain static interference devices that were identified to being in use by the Batarians according to Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard. Sam had been on her Harley-Davidson Motor Company, Inc. Iron 883 Contragravity Cruiser along with Chief Shepard cruising on the other, having been taught by her father how to drive a speed bike back on Mindoir while they each had an MP on the back seat; Sam had Seaman Apprentice Katarina 'Solo' Solodeanke riding the 'bitch' seat, while Jane had Seaman Lawrence Frazier on the back of hers. They had been merely pulling a sight patrol, seeing to the Marines and stopping by each platoon to inquire how they were dong, and being seen by the populous, who were chomping at the bit at being locked down in the confines of Nova Yekaterinburg. Not that Collins could actually blame them, but they couldn't afford to open establishments and have the miners get drunk and stumbling out on the streets during the middle of a road or whatever plot the Batarians might throw at them. The other two speedbikes were being operated as well in a different portion of the colonial city, being led by Deputy Chad Gaultier and piggybacked by Systems Alliance Marines, the other bike being driven by her last remaining Deputy, Deputy Mark O'Brien. Collins and Shepard were currently in the Bloodsalt, the southern district being nefariously rife with crime, more so than the other three Districts of No'burg, though they had risen through the Maul and Whitechapel of their quick tour of the troops and streets of the city while Gaultier and Richardson had gone in the opposite direction. Thankfully, the morale of the Marines was strong, still fresh and battle-high from their victory the previous day.

The Batarians had waited a full day to commence their second attack. Whether they needed the time or just to play on their nerves had yet to be determined.

"How many are we looking at, Captain?" Sam asked as she chanced a quick glance over to Shepard, who looked over to her as well, a grimace on the Non-Com's face. All four of them were armed and armored, but they were currently patrolling one of the lesser districts of the Bloodsalt, known as the Folly; a depression that had grown deeper thanks to a low-level sinkhole when Conex units had been added onto it for housing purposes. The weight had deeper the depression, and the metal containers had a noticeable slant to them towards the center of the Folly, drunkenly listing towards the lowest point. The paths in between said Conex's were equally drunken and hard to navigate. While they weren't exactly out in the open, neither were they in any kind of defensive point, nor were they near and strongpoint either. "And timeline."

" _Looks like they're hot-dropping a_ Vratanka _-Class Corvette Deployment Vessel at zero degrees Zulu, straight down on top of us."_ Her Executive Officer replied, making the Marshal frown for a second. That would certainly confound radar detection as the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, but a zero degree azimuth through atmo? That meant a burn-in as oppose to normal re-entry. That didn't bode well. _"ETA is less than five mikes, Marshal. Those things can drop about five_ hundred _in a minute_."

"Dig in for a fight." Sam announced through her radio, her communicator set for 'all', Marc's words being said to every squad leader and above for the defensive forces of No'burg, Marine E-5's and above undoubtedly distributing orders to their enlisted members. "Gaultier? You and Richardson are harassment." Collins ordered her remaining Deputies after she switched the receiver on her OmniTool to the specified user, giving personal orders to the remaining two speed bikes. "Don't let them dig in, and don't let them pin you down. We're hardly the Cavalry, here."

" _Understood, Marshal."_ Deputy Gaultier replied, the signal growing choppier by the minute as static snow began to grow louder and more concentrated. Communications were beginning to jam, Collins realized as she pursed her lips, an effective tactic as any weapon. Without the ability to communicate at a distance, it would effectively cut off each defensive point to their own personal level, unable to call for reinforcements or to deliver intelligence to the next echelon level to distribute. Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino had mentioned that the three most important assets for the military was the need to shoot, move, and communicate.

The attack had yet to begin, and the Batarians were already beginning to win.

"Shepard! We need to get out of this rats' warren and back onto the main boulevards!" The Marshal called out to her right, seeing the redhead nod, thankfully understood through the communicator despite the growing interference. Hopefully they would be able to talk to one another on a personal level without the need to outshout a Harley. Collins took a left at an alley that she could see would lead her out of the Folly and back towards one of the main strips of roads of No'burg thanks to the navigational map on her OmniTool, projected on her speeders' SmartScreen, taking two more twisted turns and a nauseating hairpin turn at one point before getting back into the main district of the Bloodsalt. According to the operational overlay of her navigational map, there was a platoon up ahead, identified as 'A co. 2/5' on her map. She reached the boulevard with Shepard right on her exhaust as she banked the Harley towards the right and headed towards the Marines' deliberate defensive posture point. Much to her surprise, there were a couple ground side as oppose to on the roofs of the Conex's, one of them obviously having been 'volun-told' to go greet them as one Marine approached them by jogging a few meters to where Sam stopped her Harley and killed the Contragravity thrusters, landing the vehicle on the dirt. She took off her helmet for a moment to let the light sheen of sweat dry off in the heat of Therum as the Marine trotted right up to her.

"Welcome to Andromeda Company, ma'am." The Marine, a young man that couldn't be older than her announced, his face still youthful and cherubic as he looked at her underneath a Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor helmet with a clear thin pane of plastiglas for a visor to cover his eyes, the protective face portion dropped and retracted. "Private Blake Bell." The Marine stuck out his hand.

"Marshal Collins." Sam shook the Private's hand, and watched his jaw drop. Evidently, word got around.

"Hooollleeee shit!" Bell smiled a dazzler as he face lit up. "Brass said you'd be in the area, but I didn't know I'd be meeting you!"

"Looks like you got a fan!" Shepard called out from her Harley, parked next to her own, the redhead smirking. "He might ask you to sign his rifle." The grin got bigger on the Private's face as Sam groaned good-naturedly, Seaman Solodeanke giggling behind her.

"Don't even start, Chief." The Marshal replied as she let Solo dismount off the speeder before doing so herself, Solo already hefting her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms Gladius Assault Rifle. "Where's your staging point, Marine? Batarians are coming and I'll need eyes-on."

"Right this way, Marse!" The Private was practically _bouncing_ in compliance as herself and the three Naval Security Team MP's followed her, Bell quickly jabbering away. "Gotta see some action yesterday when the Blinks went and dropped on us, and took out most of them when the last shuttle decided to pop a U-ee and rabbit out! Dropped the four-eyes like they was bowling pins! Got some!" Collins tried not to sigh in exasperation and roll her eyes too obviously over the Private's supercharged enthusiasm, Seaman Frazier snorting loud enough that she heard him. Sam looked back at the Sailor, who was obviously trying to fight off a Parsec-wide smirk on his face while Jane covered her own with a hand. Sailors and Marines were known to butt heads and rib one another, and this Private was obviously in need of someone to wipe the wet from behind his ears. And for her to think that was saying something. "Blinks start dropping on us, ma'am, and we'll drop them! Hoo-rah!"

"Let's hope so." Collins had the sinking feeling that this upcoming battle wouldn't be quite as mismatched as the last one yesterday. Then? The Marines had the numerical advantage, superior position, and the Batarians had been set up for a slaver run, not a military action. This one… wouldn't be so badly planned, she suspected. Captain Meer had strategized as such as well, figuring that the troops that they had faced before were practically cannon-fodder; conscripts armed with cheap, basic armor and weapons and given a handful of weeks training for the purpose of mob action and quick-action tactics. Those losses wouldn't have been nearly so drastic to the Batarian command using throw-away troops whose purpose was to incite terror and take a beating to probe strengths and weaknesses of a position. The real hurt had likely been the shuttles that Marines had shot down, those actually costing money and much harder to replace for a Fleet than some Dixie Cup draftees. She took a quick look at her OmniTool's chronometer and saw that they were around two mikes from the deployment vessel's approach.

Collins and her squad found a fortified position soon enough with Bell still yammering about the fight from yesterday, lauding his own skills and kills against an inferior enemy when they approached what looked to be another three Marines holding a defensive position to repel assaulters from flanking the upper positions where the light air defense of assault rifles and machine guns were located to engage targets manned by Marines, personal weapons made to engage soldiers, not spacecraft. Still, it was the upper hand as higher positions were harder to take over, as well as one deliberately fortified. It would take a good deal of fighting to dig the Marines out, even by a numerically superior opponent if the Batarians decided to break their deployment into large groups and tackle a few points at a time. With communications down, it could be a possibility that that very tactic would be used.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking." The Marshal apologized as she realized that Private Bell had asked her a question, her mind more on the situation than on the Private's mile-a-minute mouth.

"I said is it true that you killed a Krogan with a knife?"

"A KA-BAR through the mouth." Collins replied simply with a shrug, looking at the defensive position on the ground. Four Marines on the ground, another four on the first tier of Conex's in a horseshoe pattern, eight on the second level, and finally what looked to be twelve on top upper levels. There was no entrance from the outside of No'burg through here, so any attacker would have to be coming from the interior, and the Marines were set up in a way to maximize their volume of fire with overlapping fields of fire, and even a couple of markers that Collins recognized from Val's tutoring as the Final Protective Line; when all else failed, the final stand in which traps and mines were blown and sweeps of fire became a meat grinder for forces involved. "It beat getting eaten."

" _That's so fuckin' awesome!"_

"Fanboy…" Shepard sing-songed quietly from behind her, and Collins again tried not to groan out loud. That was all she needed, some baby Marine humping the air in front of her. Sam guessed how something like that would get around, though.

"Solo, Frazier." Collins spoke up, looking to the Seamen. "Head on up to the second level and get in contact with whoever is in charge of the fire team there and integrate yourselves with their defensive scenario. Find out your fields of fire and what actions they wish you to take." Both of the young Sailors saluted her crisply with a choir of ' _aye, aye, Marse!_ ' as they headed towards the Conex's that contained the Marines' second-level defensive position, both of them getting hands up by the Marines on top of the three meter tall Conex's. "Petty Officer? You and I have got ground level. Let's watch these boys' backs and give them hell."

" _RETREAT?_ " Bell shouted, the Private having overheard the orders coming from the Marshal.

" _HELL! WE JUST GOT HERE!"_ The Marines of Andromeda Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment replied with gusto, their bravery echoing through the metal canyons of the Bloodsalt.

"Aaaaand you just had to stick us with the Jarheads." Shepard replied, sadly shaking her head.

* * *

Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard hefted her Nexus Gladius Assault rifle in her hands as she took knee behind an emplacement made by the members of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, what was once a Conex door that was now stooped at an acute angle to deflect rounds instead of fully stopping them, reducing the chance of metal fatigue and rounds punching through. The door was supported by sandbags made out of PlastiGel, filled with debris and dirt from Therum's surface to both support the weight of the metal door as well as provide additional protection if rounds and heavier fire did indeed come through. She knelt by Marshal Sam Collins, the Marshal of Therum by her side as the Petty Officer still followed her orders that Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino had given to her, to stick by Collins' side. Yeah, there was a personal side to it; Shepard did find herself liking Sam in more than a few ways, so that would make it easier. But Jane knew what form the monkey on her back would take.

Vengeance never truly died, after all.

"Here they come!" Marshal Collins called out, her words going through the short-range communicators that would send her words to anyone who could still listen in on that frequency, though Jane could hear her physical words well enough being just a meter or two away from her in a defensive position behind a tipped-over metal door. Jane casted her eyes upward and saw the threat loom in the sky; a _Vratanka-_ Class Corvette Deployment Vessel that measured just over two hundred meters in length and half again that in width. It was, essentially, the airborne tank for planetary invasions; a heavily armored sky dropper meant to puke out ground forces at an alarming rate while able to take small arms fire and rocketry with little worries. The vessel itself was both an invader and reinforcement in one, carrying ground personnel, vehicles, supplies, equipment, as well as hovering overhead to lace strongpoints with MAC fire from one of its many cannons. A _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette wasn't a space patroller or a distress call responder; it was meant for one thing, and one thing only, to make war.

And the damn thing was built well.

The _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette swooped down from straight above, performing a space drop with a Corvette, the armor still glowing from burn-in as the vessel slowed down to some point a hundred meters over head. The two GARDIAN defense towers stationed at the No'burg Spaceport activated when the Corvette got into range, single-digit megaWattage beams firing with the thunder of power as red sprall arc'ed through the sky towards the ship at near speed-of-light, the high-intensity lasers firing in the infrared range to overpower ships' shields and to burn holes through plate armor to get to the important stuff underneath. Each blast was set at a five second interval to let the capacitors recharge, and with both towers firing opposite of one another, the sky thundered every two and a half seconds as the GARDIANs engaged their foe.

It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

Shepard watched with dismay as the _Vratanka_ continued to droop into the sky to hover somewhere above No'burg, the vessel a black ugly reminder of their pitiful position as the Petty Officer's heart dropped as she saw deployment doors on the Corvette opening up as the vessel was constantly hit with blasts from the GARDIAN defense towers with seemingly no effect. Several loud booms of cannon fire were heard as the _Vratanka_ -Class Vessel began opening up on the towers on the opposite side from where Jane knelt, hearing the ships' defensive cannons firing upon their only means of air defense. She could still see the air growing hazy around the Batarian Corvette as its kinetic shielding held against the onslaught of the single-digit megaWattage lasers that were pounding on it uselessly, the deployment vessel built to take worse abuse than what Therum could offer.

"When they deploy," the Petty Officer spoke up, feeling fear gripping her pounding heart as she watched the Corvette continuing to fire against the GARDIANs, "the shields will go down. That will be the weakest moment of that _Vratanka_ ; no shields, and interior exposed! Fire everything into the deployment doors to limit how much they can bring to ground, and hopefully wreck whatever's on the inside!"

"You heard the Chief! Knuckle up, _putas!_ " A _Latino_ Corporal shouted out from their position, his words going to the other Marines in their defensive positions. "Rock 'em Jackpots and Zeus's! Everyone else? Fire on the deployment! Gunfire won't do shit to a ship!" There was an explosion as one of the GARDIANs finally fell to Batarian fire, the tower's shields having finally overloaded from the continuous barrage and some system that operated it going critical. The MAC's converged on the last remaining tower and it fell seconds later, unable to take the punishment. Shepard looked over to Collins, who looked at the ship with… detachment, not an ounce of fear on her face. Here she was leaking sweat like crazy and Sam didn't even look perturbed. Shepard reached over and placed a hand on the Marshal's arm, and Sam finally looked over to her, her blue eyes almost intense.

"You here, Sam? You okay?" Jane asked, moving her microphone to keep her words from going through the communicator. Sam was Autistic, and while Shepard didn't fully understand all that the condition implied, she knew that for Sam, most everything was a struggle in where it was easy for her.

"It's time to deliver us from evil, Jane." The Marshal replied, her tone as flat and as emotionless as one could be, her eyes never shifting, never moving. _"Ave! Ave! Morituri Te Salutant! Et Eritis Mihi In Iudice Bello!"_

The haze of the kinetic barriers around the _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette Deployment Vessel dropped, and the deployment doors began to vomit _bodies_.

Dozens upon dozens of small black shapes began to fall out of the opened deployment doors, recessed into the bays of the interior of the vessel as the shapes fell hell ward towards Therum. The screams of _Airborne! Airborne!_ punctuated the air as the shapes became figures as they approached terminal velocity, falling towards the confines of No'burg by the means of gravity. Weapons fire shattered the air as twenty-nine men and women holding the southern section of the Bloodsalt began to fire upon their foes with their designated weapons as blue-tinted sprall of Mass Effect-fired NiFe MuMetal and the white smoke of rocketry from the affectionately named 'Jackpots' of the Elanus Risk Control Services ML-77 Missile Launcher began to decorate the air. Chief Shepard began engaging the falling forms with her Gladius Assault Rifle, the weapon bucking into her shoulder with each round that she fired out of the semi-automatic weapon. The sky was filled with figures as a mass airborne drop came onto No'burg as they steadily grew bigger, shapes turning into bodies as the sounds of two Automatique Republik UA-571-C Zeus Automated Sentry Turret with VI-driven Smart Tracker began to roar with the sound of eight rounds per second being fired upon the vessel, belching out gouts of sprall and entropic heat flashes coming from the barrel. The murderous fire of the Zeus's were centered on the deployment doors to either keep more airborne troopers from jumping out, or to straight up injure or kill before they could do so. The ones armed with personal weapons fired on the sky borne troopers themselves, when they were most vulnerable.

Unfortunately, there were so many of them.

Shepard kept firing her Gladius at the falling forms, not really seeing if she was personally having any effect on the enemy forces, though she could see a few that were tumbling about in the air like rag dolls. Collins was firing her own Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms' ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle in a three-round burst, pulling the trigger faster than Shepard herself as the barrel danced from target to target. Master Chief had mentioned that Sam was a savant, and could possibly operate _better_ than peak human capacity at certain skills and abilities. She was certainly handy with a gun, that was for sure. The figures falling through the sky only had to free fall for a few seconds before whatever devices they had to slow them down were activated, some ten meters above the surface of the planet, leaving them extremely vulnerable as they went from falling at a speed of almost ten meters per second squared to less than one meter per second squared, practically floating for a few more seconds until they touched down. It was the most effective time to engage the airborne troopers, practically dangling in the air for a few seconds as small arms fire from the Marines continued to engage them with extreme prejudice before they disappeared behind the safety of the metal canyons created by the favelas of No'burg.

The Batarians were landing.

"We've got incoming aircraft!" Sam called out as she continued to engage the falling Batarians, and Shepard's eyes flickered upward towards the _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette as another set of deployment doors opened, these ones above the personnel doors. The Non-Com's heart was almost squeezed at the sight of what appeared to be ten armored transport aircraft strafing sideways slowly out of the Corvette, large insectile-looking troop transport carrier shuttles that were obviously armed with anti-personnel and anti-aircraft weaponry. The carrier shuttles slowly spread out further from the Corvette as rockets from ML-77's and suppressive fire from Zeus's began engaging the shuttles, small deck guns firing at the rockets to destroy them in mid-flight while the murderous fire of the Zeus's pounded away at the smaller vessels, making the air grow thick and hazy quickly from its kinetic barriers preventing the rounds from penetrating through. In Shepard's eye, she took one look at the armor on the carrier shuttles and knew that mere gunfire wouldn't be enough.

"Coursers! They're Coursers!" The daughter of Mindoir cried out, having seen only one once before, over New Edmonton years ago. She knew what they represented, and what they held. Heaven above, she knew _what_ would be in charge of that Hunter/Killer craft and its crew, trained Batarian troops who specialized in cracking resistances and insurgencies. Those troops that were performing the airborne drop out of the Corvette were mere cannon fodder, probably conscripts or prisoners that were armed and armored to be set loose so they could waste their munitions on, to give them something else to fire up. No, those Hunter/Killer Coursers were the real threat, the vessels specializing in tracking and capturing potential runaway 'product' while engaging whatever meager defenses were left over in a colony after the crippling blows had been dealt. Shepard knew all too well what was in that carrier shuttle, having seen its kind before in Mindoir.

The ten Coursers spread out in ten different directions, towards where Marines were bunkered down. One of them was heading right towards Andromeda Company.

"Shoot down the Coursers! Do _not_ let them deploy!" Chief Shepard cried out the order, the panic and fear in her voice leaking through as she aimed for the cockpit of the vessel, the weakness of any aircraft being either the pilot or the engines, depending on which direction one was facing. Unfortunately, the Hunter/Killer had been designed to withstand abuse from ground forces, and its kinetic barriers held strong despite the rockets and small arms fire. Unfortunately, the Courser had its own teeth, too.

Twin multi-barreled chain guns mounted under the pilots cockpit opened up upon Andromeda Company, a dozen rounds per second spitting out from the spinning barrels as Chief Shepard ducked under the metal Conex door, praying that it was strong and thick enough to keep her from being splattered. The roar of fire and the thumping of rounds striking the earth and metal was a constant, quick barrage as rounds scythed through the middle of the defensive position, tearing at its heart by starting at the ground and working its way up quickly. As soon as the murderous firing was done, Jane knelt back up with her weapon at the ready to engage any potential targets that might have taken advantage of the lull. The Gladius did a quick sweep of the area in front of her, going past her determined field of fire in case others were still recovering, and found, much to her dismay, through the twisting convoluted canyons of Conex's that she could see movement flitting back and forth tactically, at a distance. The targets were possibly two hundred or so meters away, using the Conex's for cover and concealment, to protect from gunfire. Though none of them seemed to stay in view longer than a second or two, much quicker than she could draw a bead on, she caught glimpses of their armor, seeing the browns and yellows that she recognized from Mindoir.

Special Intervention Unit Soldiers. They were sending the best.

"SIU!" Jane called out as she unleashed a few rounds towards one who had ducked behind a Conex, knowing her rounds wouldn't penetrate the Conex's alumnisteel walls, hoping to suppress at least one avenue of approach from what were essentially Special Forces Warriors of Khar'shan. Several of the assaulters were firing back as well for the same purpose, moving and firing as they flitted from position to position, keeping their bodies low to minimize their profiles while sprinting from location to location to minimize their exposure time. There were several other weapons up and firing at the Intervention Agents, but Jane could hear the moans of pain behind her, indicating that the Courser that had fired at them had found something to hit, and probably several somethings. Collins was next to her, firing away with her Modulus, the ECS-10 spitting out three-round bursts. Shepard saw one or two bursts make their targets' kinetic shields activate from strikes, but none of them went down from gunfire. Chances were, the SIU had better armor, shields, and weapons than they. One had gotten within fifty meters of their position, and Sam surprised her by whipping out that mammoth-killer of hers and snapping off a quick shot at the enterprising Batarian. Much to the Petty Officer's surprise, the Batarian went down in a crumpled heap, falling to the Therum dirt gracelessly and lying still. Sam had gotten a kill, then.

"Nice shot!" Jane shouted out as she laid into another Batarian, who was rushing past the Conex's and straight towards their position, holding what looked to be a Batarian State Arms AA-12 Raider Automatic Shotgun. Shepard fired four rounds in quick succession at the rushing attacker, seeing his kinetic shields holding up though his form grew more and more distorted, showing that she was close to breaking them when the Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver went off again, putting the SIU Soldier onto his back, as still as death.

But more were still coming.

One of the Zeus's spun back to life as three more SIU Agents charged with automatic rifle fire as the machine gun made short work of them, none of them able to withstand the onslaught of the UA-571-C as it chewed right through their shields in a second and then reduced them to so much paste from the amount of rounds being fired. Jane and several of the other Marines were trying to keep the other Batarian Operatives back with suppressive fire as the machine gun finished off the three chargers before they could reach Andromeda Company's strongpoint.

Jane spotted one Batarian leaning out of cover, and his arm quickly rotating outward.

"Grenade!" Shepard shouted as she saw the black orb sailing towards them, already halfway towards them when a gunshot struck the anti-personnel device and blew it up in mid-air. The MP just looked over to Marshal Collins, who had the audacity to smirk for half-a-second as she holstered her mammoth-killer and pulled up her Modulus, setting it over the metal barrier and went back to firing at the Batarians. "I count seven more!"

"Agreed!" Sam shouted back as she fired at one Batarian in particular, his shields growing weaker. "We need to get them to come out and play with us, otherwise they can just wear us out!"

"I can do that!" Came the youthful, boyish voice of Private Blake Bell, the young Marine who was holding the ground position with them. Shepard could almost _hear_ Collins wince at the words. Before either of them could ask with the Marine had in mind, Bell popped off and ran to one side of the defensive formation.

"Bell! Get back here!" Collins shouted as Shepard went back to firing, covering for the young Marine, hoping to protect him from his own stupidity. Considering her actions from yesterday, now Jane understood what Sam must have felt just seeing the Non-Com run off in the middle of battle. "Damn it! What in bloody hell is that bloke doing?"

"Senior Chief's rubbing off on you." Jane smirked as she fired at a Batarian trying to flank them through the use of the Conex's protection, watching the distorting haze around him finally break as she laid onto him with her Gladius as fast as she could fire it. She was rewarded with what looked to be two solid hits, though the Batarians crawled back into protection behind the alumnisteel wall. "Down to six!" The Petty Officer called out as she ducked a few salvos that ricocheted off the metal door they were using as a berm. She wasn't about to test how good her helmets' shields were.

There was a roar of a Harley's engine growing when, off from the left, Private Bell gunned the throttle of the contragravity speeder and sped towards the first position of one of the dug-in Batarians.

"What the hell is that _bloke_ doing!" Collins seethed as Shepard watched as the bike disappeared behind a line of Conex's, only to reappear a moment later, a Batarian practically stapled to the front of it. Bell hit the reverse thrusters as the SIU Agent flew off the bike, rolling on the ground a few meters before coming to a stop. He lasted approximately a second when several weapons trained in on the exposed Special Forces soldier and shot him to death, his shields and armor ineffective against so much fire. By then, Bell and the Harley had disappeared behind more Conex's.

"He's flanking them and flushing them out like the Cavalry!" Shepard laughed and shouted as another Batarian was knocked out into the open, this one punted by the rear end as Bell performed a tailspin with the speed bike, performing a powerskid to use the weight of the bike as a bludgeoning weapon. "Where the hell this kid learn his moves? I like him!"

"Keep up the fire! Don't let them take advantage of the situation!" Collins reminded her as the Marshal slapped in a new ammo block for her Nexus' Modulus. "Jane! Target, two o'clock!" Shepard raised her Gladius and concentrated her fire on an enterprising Batarian trying to move out of cover, her rounds making him duck back behind his alumnisteel barrier. A moment later he was flung out of his defensive position, struck by a sideswipe by the Harley Davidson. That Batarian too went down under a barrage of weapons fire. "Three left!" One of the SIU Agents thought it a better idea to try and jump up and grab the side of the Conex he was ducking behind to mount up onto the second level, apparently thinking there was enough room to stand on from the sloppy way the Container, Housing Units were stacked on top of one another. Jane saw him as he was two-thirds of the way up onto the second level when several of the Marines behind her fired upon his new position, catching him in an awkward position. His demise was highlighted when he fell off the Conex and hit the Therum earth with a final fall. "Two!" Both Shepard and Collins ducked behind their cover as both Batarians focused their fire on their position, rounds pinging off the alumnisteel Conex door as Sam grunted, pulled leather, stood and snapshot her Smith and Wesson twice in quick succession, using her right hand to fan the hammer as she engaged both targets in one second. Shepard peeked up to see both SIU Agents down.

"Hot damn!" Jane called out, hooting in victory as she ejected her almost spent NiFe ammo block and inserted a fresh one into the Gladius' magazine well. "That was mighty fine shootin', Marse!" The redhead turned to look at the Marshal, who had her eyes up somewhere above them. Jane followed to where Sam was looking to see the Courser Hunter/Killer coming back for another pass. That didn't bode well. The Petty Officer took a quick look behind her to see who was available for what was potentially the next wave of hostiles, and frowned at the sight of the Marines behind her. It looked like… half didn't make it, one or two performing first aid on those who had a chance to get back into the fight as quickly as they could as the Hunter/Killer aircraft came right back for them, opening its deployment doors to release one occupant for deployment.

"Um, did they just drop off one guy?" Collins asked, her tone unsure as they had both watched the Courser hover above the Conex towers and let the sole deployer off at perhaps four meters above the ground. "That's what it looked like to you, right, Jane?"

"I…" The redhead felt her hands shaking slightly as the icy cold fingers of fear slipped over her heart and gave it a good squeeze, memories of Mindoir coming hack hard and strong. She knew what she had seen from that sole assailant, what appeared to be a man in robes. She had only seen one once before, back on New Eddie, and she had never heard of its like or ilk from anyone else. Though the distance had been hard to tell, the being in question having been dropped off approximately a hundred and fifty or so meters away from their position, with the cover of the Conex's to aid in disguise, the clothing the being looked to have been wearing did appear to be robes.

Red and black robes.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Collins asked, looking at her with questioning eyes, flickering from side-to-side rapidly as she looked at the redhead. "You know what it is?"

"God help us all." Please let her be wrong, anything but that again. She could remember the screams of tortured torment as that… _thing_ , had pacified the captured occupants of New Edmonton, Jane Shepard having to bite on her shirt and muffle her mouth to keep from adding her own screams of horror from the sound of what was likening to flaying a man alive as the being laughed as it did so, moving through the capturee's with authority and sadistic pleasure. Her sixteen-year old self had only glimpsed it a few times from her hiding spot in a sewage pipe, but she would never forget that soulless laugh. Or the screams it caused. Jane knew what it was, and what it was _capable_ of.

"It's a Pillars-Priest." Chief Shepard replied, unable to disguise the fear in her voice.

* * *

Author's Note: The Quote attributed to Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery (The English Commanding Officer of WWII) is not his, but my own. But it makes sense that behind a good leader is a better strategist. King Cailian Therein of Ferelden could have used one or two more, as oppose to some Chantry biddy denying him magical artillery in Ostegar. Jus' sayin'.

Duke John II of Alençon - A Real Life person who was the military commander of Joan of Arc's forces back during the 1430's. Having lost his entire holdings as ransom for his release and then another nobleman being issued his birthright, John of Alençon was the first nobleman to support Joan's efforts for the fight to release France from English dominance as well as believing her to be a messenger of God. He died penniless and in prison in 1467 for a variety of reasons, having lost favor with Charles VII of France. Joan, of course, died at 19, burned at the stake because she wore armor in war, found guilty for cross dressing (the formal charge). She was canonized later and made the Patron Saint of France, an illiterate French peasant who performed three miracles (one in court, one in war, and one on trial). America has no 'formal' Patron Saint, Virgin Mary Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception being the patronage. As far as I am aware, there is exactly 3 American-born Saints (Katharine Drexel, Elizabeth Ann Seton, and Kateri Tekakwitha, a Mohawk-born Native American, the first and only of her kind). There are 8 others who were born in Europe and worked in America, canonized for their blessed work! Love history!

High-Gain Static Interference Devices - For us American Vets, we know of the Warlock Systems used to 'snow' frequencies to prevent cellphones from receiving calls, especially if said cell phones are connected to improvised explosive devices. But these things have been in existence for years, and generally this is the proper term for a jamming device. Essentially, you just mount a devices that throws kiloWatts of power into a frequency (or frequencies) and blast out static to where a receiver cannot comprehend a signal, essentially 'jamming' a connection.

Deputy Chad Gaultier - I haven't used him much, but he was one of the 'surviving' Deputies of the Purge that Sam conducted when arresting her entire office. Chad is approximately 25 years old, and has been on Therum for about three years, which is why he wasn't in on the know or on the take. Chad was the Deputy who watched over Sam, taking her to the Market Square when needed, handling Officer of the Watch duties at night along with the senior Non-Coms, was the one to jump up and declare his surprise in Therum, II when the charges were read, and still performing his duties. Though I've never mentioned it, he had a bit of a crush on Sam, but never said anything. The other, whom was first identified in the chapter (though I created him earlier for accountability purposes) is Deputy Mark O'Brien, who has been on Therum for 7 years. The reason he wasn't in on it is because he was the big stupid one. There's always one of those.

Shoot, Move, Communicate - Most in the Army will recognize this military cadence. It is also true that this is exactly what a unit needs to be effective, and the loss of one generally spells disaster unless one is in a built-up defensive posture, in which the 'move' portion becomes 'hold'.

SmartScreen - Like what you see on cars today, those Smartphone-like tablet screens that plays music, navigates for you, and does everything else but drives the damn car for you. One on a motorcycle? It'll probably happen eventually.

 _Ave! Ave! Morituri Te Salutant! Et Eritis Mihi In Iudice Bello!_ \- Translated from Latin? Hail! Hail! Those who die, we salute you! Let war be my judge!

Sprall - I believe that is the actual technical name of the blue contrails that come from your weapon in the first Mass Effect. I've seen the term in a few sci-fi books, but don't quote me on it. Technically, it is both energy bleed (entropy) as well as blue-shift emissions.

Pillars-Priest - Can you say 'Boss Fight'? This is going to get good as I steal a few notes from FF's own LogicalPremise. Because where would you be without enemies such as these?


	25. Libera Nos A Malo, V

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **SSV** _ **Canberra**_ **, Therum LaGrange Point 3, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 22 2175**

* * *

Captain Rhys Llewellyn looked upon the map of Knossos Space with the most current updates, frowning at what he saw.

The Command and Intelligence Center of the flagship of Battle Group _Moctezuma_ was a hotbed of activity as the Executive Officer, Commander Margaret Weiss, was talking to the patrolling frigates that were running a Combat Action Patrol around the Battle Group while the fighters themselves were running screen lines to detect any incoming vessels that might spot out the Battle Group as they held the apotheosis point opposite of Therum, the star Knossos in between themselves and the planet. After their initial brush with the Batarian Fleet the previous day, a quick and dirty flyby had revealed the damage they had caused with the SSV _Charger_ ; the Dreadnaught had been severely damaged in the suicidal charge, with half of its bow decimated by the strike, and most of the systems obviously damaged. One of the braver pilots had shut off all systems after aiming his AS-17 Trident Fighter Vessel towards the Fleet and drifted towards them to gauge the damaged with the old and reliable eyeball, and had seen the effect for himself. While some of the other ships in the Batarian Fleet had received minor or cosmetic damage from the mass core detonation from the SSV _Charger's_ final flight, the Dreadnaught had been all but catastrophically killed by the impact. While it wouldn't win them the next battle, it would give the blinks pause before engaging in any hostilities against a Navy, especially if they were resorting to kamikaze tactics.

Not that the Battle Group stood a chance in hell, but they still had the element of surprise.

"Tactical? Give me current positioning of the last designation of the Batarian Fleet." The Captain told one of his Ensigns, working at a terminal by where he stood in the CIC, looking at the tactical monitors and feeds that read the status of the various ship systems, as well as that of the various other ships of his small fleet. The SSV _Explorer_ was still having issues with one of its shield emitters, meaning that it would likely be destroyed easily in any engagement. The rest of his vessels were in the green, ready to go.

"Current tactical data suggests that the Batarian Fleet is holding a Lagrange Point Two for Therum, keeping to the interior to prevent being snuck up on sunward side." The Ensign replied, making Captain Llewellyn grunt. It would be exactly how he would have done it, keeping to the 'like' side of the planet, where the LaGrange Point forever facing Knossos, the point in between the star and Therum, being about a hundred or so thousand kilometers from the surface of the planet, where a gravity well exists due to gravitational pull that made a sort of 'parking spot' in space where less energy and fuel was required to keep in geosynchronous orbit. To 'sneak' up on the Fleet, one would have to come from the dark side of the system, completely in the opposite direction from where the Battle Group was currently at, using Knossos to shield their presence. He would have to traverse around the entire damn system and use Therum itself as a sort of lens to prevent the Bats from viewing them until it was too late. Such a maneuver would more than likely have them discovered and destroyed in good order…

…Well, that wasn't necessarily true, was it?

Like all sensors and thermal imaging equipment, there were flaws and weak points, exploits that could be used if one were daring enough. The most common was that of distance, where solar radiation would weaken any reception after a hundred and fifty million kilometers, around the distance of an Astronomical Unit. Even at Luminal Speeds, such a distance would take eight minutes to traverse, eight minutes to be detected and prepared for, as well as fired up. Weapons didn't fire without a systems lock-on upon a target, and even the most foolhardy didn't fire mass-accelerated weaponry without a designated and determined target to fire upon for a plethora of reasons. But one had to know where the target _might_ be in order to find it and fire upon it.

And the Batarians held the high ground, so to speak.

But that didn't mean that they were necessarily unapproachable.

"Navigation?" Lieutenant Commander Leonard Kyle looked up from his station, studying the current relation of planets in the system, as well as that of asteroids, comets, space debris, and known anomalies. "Distance from Knossos?"

"We are currently approximately six AU's from Knossos, LaGrange Point Three for Therum." Rhys _hmm'ed_ at that, knowing that it meant that they were at least twelve AU's from Therum itself. That was an hour and a half at Luminal Speed, probably closer to two and a half if one didn't wish to fry in the high energetic output of the star Knossos, allowing for the narrowest berth possible. He thought it over, the possibilities for reaching the Batarians without them seeing him coming. If he went with the narrowest curve possible, it would make the fastest trip, but would probably have him detected in the soonest amount of time too, unless that Fleet's Admiral was a complete idiot. Trying to go around the system entirely and approaching the dark side, using Therum as a shield, was a safe, if longer route, but any Navy man worth his salt would see that coming, too, and would have countermeasures for that kind of thing. LaGrange Points Four and Five, the Trojan Points, were respectively in front of and behind the planet, but would probably also be monitored as well.

That required him doing something unconventional. Radical, even.

"Mister Kyle? Ready an FTL plot with these coordinates." The Commanding Officer told his Navigator, punching in a set of coordinates after looking them up for verification and accuracy. Rhys sent them to the Navigator, who reviewed them, and then plotted them to see where they went. Commander Kyle's face went pale.

"Sir, this is…" The Navigator began, but his voice failed him. Commander Weiss, who was only a meter or so away from the Navigator's duty station, leaned over to look at what the Captain had in mind, and her eyebrow went up with consideration as the Battle Group's Executive Officer looked back up at him, and then at the coordinates.

"Doable. Crazy, but doable." Margaret said simply as she went back to her detail of coordinating with the Frigates running CAP. "Pull in the fighter squadron? Those Tridents can't run an FTL jump."

"No." Rhys looked at his battle board, his plan in mind. "Send them towards Therum to see if they can get eyes-on the Batarian Fleet and to confirm action when we launch the attack. They're small enough to miss out in open space, and no one would expect a few fighters to be out on their own without a Fleet to protect." Tridents weren't exactly low-emission vessels, but their small size, small engines, and lack of most things that a Naval vessel needed meant they generated a good deal less heat than what anyone would normal look for and identify. He was going to use that oversight to his advantage. Pity they couldn't arm a Trident with anything bigger than a few torpedoes armed with flecks of antimatter in their warheads. Rhys wondered how much of a wallop the sensors had taken for the Fleet when the _Charger_ had gone supercritical ramming the Dreadnaught. Most likely, the Dreadnaught itself was dead in the water, so to speak, with only a few functional systems and a hull, more there as a threat than an asset. When the Corvette's core detonated, it had sent megaSevarts of radiation in the form of Alpha and Beta wave radiation throughout that portion of space, unrestricted by gravity, solid matter, and a more fluid environment like atmosphere. He didn't doubt that the scanners, sensors, and sweepers of the Batarian Fleet had been saturated with the ultrahigh-gain interference of radiation, knowing what it looked like himself having seen ships destroyed on patrols and what they could do to nearby vessels. For an Alliance Navy ship, it was part of the Coxswains'' job to make sure that the sensors were 'cleaned' and calibrated, his Boatswains and Bosum's Mates having to go out on the hull to decontaminate the sensors and recalibrate them. It was neither a simple or fast process, even at dock. In the middle of space, it would take three days to do during peacetime in friendly territories.

So did the Batarian Admiral choose to scrub some of them? Any of them? Were they partially blind, or mostly blind? With his largest ship and biggest gun effectively out-of-commission and the local refueling station having been robbed blind in a matter that would have made a Terminus pirate proud and sunk to crush depth in the gas giant Archanes, that Admiral (or whoever survived the sucker punch he delivered) had to know that their operations were limited. While Captain Llewellyn hadn't completely immobilized them, he had essentially turned the pride of that Fleet into scrap. Despite all that, no one in their right mind would abandon a still existing Dreadnaught for exploitation; generally, vessels such as that had the best technology to make it the most effective weapon, and likewise the best gain for opposing forces to want. No, they hovered at LaGrange Point Two because it was the _smart_ choice, but also the _easy_ one.

Someone was about to discover that war did not reward easy choices.

"Fighter squadron received and acknowledges new orders, sir." Commander Weiss replied after a few minutes, and Rhys saw on the battle board the update of the Battle Groups' fifty Tridents burning away from their envelope, effectively heading out of their sphere of influence. "All ships are on standby and ready to prepare jump."

"Call it, Navigation."

"ALL HEAR THIS, ALL HEAR THIS." Lieutenant Commander Leonard Kyle announced over the 1MC microphone, his voice projected not only over the SSV _Canberra's_ speakers to all those who worked upon the Heavy Cruiser, but also for its Light Cruisers, Light and Heavy Destroyers, Patrol and Missile Frigates, and Fast Attack and Hunter-Class Corvettes. "PREPARE FOR IN-SYSTEMS JUMP. I SAY AGAIN, PREPARE FOR IN-SYSTEMS JUMP. SECURE ALL EXTERNAL ACCESSES AND INITIATE INTERNAL LOCKDOWN SYSTEMS. JUMP IN T-ONE MINUTE, JUMP IN T-ONE MINUTE."

"Think it will work, Rhys?" Margaret asked, his Executive Officer studying the battle board alongside him as she moved over next to his station, her eyes on what he was seeing. He hadn't told her what he was planning on doing, but it wouldn't take an Annapolis Graduate long to recognize what he intended. It was crazy, stupid, and generally came with reams of warnings and screaming against the intent of such follies. But Rhys wasn't a by-the-books Naval Officer. Never had been, never would be.

"It'll work." The Captain replied as Mister Kyle began to count off the ten-second countdown. "At the least, it will scare the hell out of the Blinks."

"It scares the hell out of me, so at the very least, it should scare the hell out of them, too."

And with the build up of electrical power and the output of the Mass Effect Core Engines spinning up to 150% capacity, Battle Group _Moctezuma_ rocketed towards Knossos in a streaks of blue-shift emissions as they went superluminal, heading towards the largest object in the system.

They were going to slingshot a sun.

* * *

 **Office of Civil Complaints, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, May 22 2175**

"Sir?"

Citadel Security Services Supervisory Officer Kanus Hesperian looked over to see one of his subordinates calling out to him, a Salarian tech by the name of Lullo Fanrin raising his hand up in identification. Kanus was the supervisor for the Office of Civil Complaints, an office that, on paper, was to register and file all complaints aboard the Citadel about maintenance issues, irregularities, and issues with C-SEC. That was, of course, on paper. To sweeten the deal and to make it look proper, there was in fact a lobby and about a dozen OCC Agents (usually the dregs of C-SEC who had pissed someone off) that did just that; registered and filed complaints. Nothing ever happened with them, and it was even a running joke that the Office of Civil Complaints was the worst drain on C-SEC's budget, an agency that existed only to say that _someone_ would take notice of the bleatings of the public.

The best lies had to have an element of truth, after all.

OCC was actually a subsidiary arm of the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, a field office on the Citadel that operated clandestinely under the guise of a worthless bureaucratic cog, one that existed so that Citadel politicians could say such things existed, promising reform for issues not solved without any changes being made. The whole thing was a joke just so that the _real_ work of the OCC could be done without scrutiny; sentients were too busy looking at the pile of varren shit to notice the trap that laid just underneath it. The network of OCC was ran by highly sophisticated VI systems integrated on several networks tapped into the various bands of the separate species that called the Citadel home. To include the military and civilian bands of the Big Three (Asari, Salarian, and of course, Turians), they also monitored those of the minor races, as well as private lines, ExtraNet usages, and the bandwidth itself. It was a part of the Office of Special Tactics' Intelligence Arm, gathering data electronically. More often than not, it was the Office of Civil Complaints that got the first heads up that something was wrong, and every single one of its employees (background checked and vetted for loyalty and secrecy) knew and understood that in terms of galactic peace, they were the eyes and ears.

"Go ahead, Officer Fanrin." The Turian Supervisor got out of his seat and moved over to the terminal in question, seeing the Salarian staring at his monitored feeds.

"I am… detecting an unusual signal. From the Relay itself." The Salarian male informed him, his tone curious.

"Like last time?" Apparently, some Human off in the pyjak's _clochea-_ end-of-nowhere had been tapping into a Mass Relay to gain shipping information to monitor some boat that he/she/it thought was interesting. That had caused a stir a few weeks back when, evidently, the Human in question had figured out _how_ to track a ship through a Relay Jump itself, and pinpointing it when it came back through. No one else had been able to figure out how the Human had done it, and when C-SEC Officer Kanus Hesperian had brought it up to the Office of Civil Complaints Executor, one Lieutenant Ashira T'mora, it had garnered the interest of the Powers-that-Be of the Office of Special Tactics itself. SPECTREs had been sent to collect the Human… and it had lead into the fracas that was now known as the Revan House of Horrors and the Trail of Tears. That had garnered some attention to be sure, and most of the SPECTREs had been out and about collecting everyone involved with the Trail of Tears for nearly a week now, landing on a mass majority of the sick main _dreshyrs_ just a couple days before in a Council Space-wide sweep utilizing several law enforcement agencies and military special operations units. They had struck something like fourteen sites simultaneously in Council Space abroad to keep one from warning the others or the news media doing the job for them. The Human had not only discovered one of their ships and one of their locations, but had supposedly arrested a law enforcement agent that had been in cahoots with it as well.

"Same cluster, Artemis Tau. Signal is coming in fast pulses." Officer Fanrin told Kanus, pointing out what he was reading. "Too fast to be searching for information or intelligence. Certainly not an attempt to open or close a Relay."

"Too fast?" That was Spirits-be-damned unusual. He looked at the amount of access that was being signaled through the Relay and… Spirits! There were hundreds! In less than a minute! "Peace! Why would someone do that? Are they _trying_ to get our attention?"

"That could be possible. The Human knows." Lullo offered, looking to Kanus. "There have been no other accesses ever since that Human law enforcement agent used it over three weeks ago. Now there are hundreds. Must be trying to contact us?"

"They could just use the ExtraNet." Kanus growled, though he was wondering something. The amount of accesses was disturbing, and they were coming at odd times. There were sets coming at times that were really just too fast for a sapient to use, some faster than others. There couldn't be any other explanation, save… "Lullo, could you… _play_ those signal accesses in time? Like… a beep for every access?"

"Strange request." The Salarian huffed as his three-fingered hands went to his Haptic keyboard, typing in the commands as requested. "Reduced to a music jockey, now. Playing."

What Kanus heard next had his fringe standing up on end, the _tap tap tap, tap-tap-tap, tap tap tap_ , coming in fast yet apparent, a few other Turians in the Office of Civil Complaints raising their head and looking at the terminal in question in recognition of that sound. The sounds repeated over and over again in pattern, a simple set of sounds that Turians of the Relay 314 Incident had come to recognize.

"Save Our Spirits." Officer Kanus Hesperian whispered, his mandibles drawing in as he recognized the code he had first heard on the grassy fields of Shanxi, knowing what it meant. "The Humans' ancient distress call." Several of the Turians were now looking at one another, having equally recognized the code for what it was. "Lullo? Pull up the Human matrix for… Morrison's Code?"

"Morse Code." Another one of his kind spoke up.

"Morse Code." Yes, that was it. "Input the signal's timing with the timing of the Morse Code and have the VI translate it for us." Officer Lullo Fanrin typed away, his hyper-accelerated senses making short work of the _ad hoc_ program that he was making just for the occasion. He was done in moments as he translated the signal into text onto the monitor. Kanus began to read, and he felt his spirit shrivel at the sight of the words being displayed. "Lieutenant? Lieutenant!" The Turian called for the Executor, Ashira T'mora sitting in her own personal office as he shouted her name. The Asari poked her head out a moment later, the Matron looking slightly vexed for being addressed in such a fashion. "We've got FLASH Traffic, Lieutenant. Fifty Batarian vessels in Human space above the skies of Therum."

"Where is this intel coming from?" The Lieutenant asked as she moved towards the station in question so she wouldn't have to shout through the office. Not that it would have been a problem now, now that the word 'FLASH' was used, an acronym signifying Fleet Logistical Acquisition, Send in Haste.

"Therum, Matron." Kanus replied, looking to the screen. "That one Human that knows how to use Relays is using it now to send a distress call. They're being hit with an unscheduled Batarian Fleet, and a big one at that. At least one Dreadnaught-Class vessel and four Battleship-Class vessels." That often meant war, invasion, or a first strike. Only authorized Citadel Defensive Patrols were authorized to have Dreadnaughts in their fleets, each one chosen from each race and scheduled in advanced. For a species-related Defensive Fleet patrolling their own space? That was fine. Outside of it? Not so much. It was common to see a Turian Dreadnaught patrolling the vectors of Council Space in a multi-species Fleet flying CDP, their route sent to each Embassy for acknowledgement of time, if not route. But for another species to send one of _their_ Dreadnaughts into a separate government's territorial space was often an act of war.

A fifty ship Fleet was larger than most standard Citadel Defensive Patrols. By a good deal.

"Goddess." The Lieutenant swore, her tattooed face scowling, her centurymarks crinkling in anger. "Is there a CDP near the area?"

"Negative, Matron." Officer Lullo Fanrin replied, typing away at his terminal. "Nearest Human one is… Battle Group _Moctezuma_ , Alliance Navy, stationed in the Knossos System."

"That won't be enough by half. The biggest ship in a Human Battle Group is… a heavy cruiser, I think." Hesperian replied, shaking his head. "Humans can be tenacious, but that's folly." Even a Turian Action/Defense Patrol, the equivalent of a Battle Group, wouldn't go against such odds. "The Batarians must have destroyed the comms buoy if that Human used the Mass Relay as an emergency beacon. I believe their Fourth Fleet is within a few Jumps from the system, but that will take them at least two days to reach the planet, and I'm not sure that the Alliance Fourth Fleet would be enough. The _Everest_ -Class Dreadnaught is the smallest Dreadnaught of all the Council species, and the Alliance Fleets are about twenty percent smaller than a standard Turian Fleet." While he didn't necessarily hate Humans like many of his own species, Kanus realized that Humanity was well behind the power curve due to time and the simple fact that they were the newest species in Citadel Space. They hadn't had the time to truly build up their Navy to something respectable yet, though Humanity was known for pulling out surprises. "We'll need to alert the Alliance Navy at the very least. If we let this slide…" The actions of Mindoir and several other slave raids conducted by the Batarians had relations between the Systems Alliance and the Batarian Hegemony at a very hostile state. If anyone knew that they had been informed and had done nothing about it…

…Not that the Alliance would win in a war against the Citadel, but the minor races might wonder why a species who pulled Council Patrols was left in the dark and begin connecting their own dots.

"Officer Y'ala, send FLASH Traffic to Alliance Command, Arcturus Station of the message we have just received." The Executor ordered an Asari Officer who was at her terminal, the Maiden in question immediately complying. "Officer Lynadius, inform Citadel Military Command as well. And then the Office of Special Tactics." The Turian nodded in compliance. "And Hesperian? Get the contact information for Centurion Kryik and let him know his pet Human is in danger." Her eyes went over the text, seeing the personalized address at the end of it, a plea for help from comrades.

"Tell him to get his plates to Therum soonest with whatever is immediately available to him."

* * *

 **SSV** _ **Tahoma**_ **, 15 AU from Relay, Zeta Reticuli System, Helios (Local) Cluster, May 22 2175**

Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Peluna Shule stood at her duty station aboard her flagship SSV _Tahoma_ , her eyes upon the crew of the Command and Intelligence Center aboard the _Everest_ -Class Dreadnaught, seeing the Ops Alley operators working their separate terminals that provided connectivity throughout the whole Fleet, able to monitor the status and scanners of each vessel, providing a sphere of influence for the Dreadnaught that encompassed a circumference of several dozen AU's. They were currently performing a Fleet discharge in the local gas giant, Reticuli-ȥ (d); a planet boring enough to not even bothered being named. The Zeta Reticuli System was a mostly dead system with five planets with almost no resources to be had, and terraforming or creating domed colonies was more expensive than it was worth to bother trying. One of the Energy Corporations had set up an automated Heavy Helium scrubber at Reticuli-ȥ (d) for any Fleet operations that were passing by, providing both Heavy Helium fuel and a discharge point. Considering that Zeta Reticuli was connected to the Charon Relay by terminated at the system, it was a local backyard that was easily defended and gave the ability for the Systems Alliance to perform Fleet maneuvers and troop training deployments without having _others_ spying on them.

Plus, they could nuke the whole system and not even lose anything of worth, so the SA Military had practically turned the system into a playground for MilTech.

"Ma'am? We're receiving FLASH Traffic from Arcturus Station."

Admiral Shule looked over to her Navigator, Captain Marcus Holt looking at the incoming message with some surprise. FLASH Traffic was of the highest priority, and was to be immediately response to, receipted and returned ASAP. It wasn't an ADDORD (Addendum to Orders), a FRAGO (Fragment Order), or a new OPORD (Operation Order). FLASH Traffic literally meant _stop whatever the fuck you are doing RIGHT NOW and respond_. Only seventeen people in the entirety of the Systems Alliance were authorized to create FLASH Traffic; The President of the Systems Alliance, the Fleet Master, every Fleet Admiral, the Joints Chief Commander, the Minister of Defense, the Assistant Minister of Defense, the Human Ambassador to the Citadel, her Deputy Ambassador, and five Captains who did deep space reconnaissance patrols. FLASH from Arcturus meant that it came from one of five people; the President, Admiral Grissom, the JCCom, the MoD, or the AMoD. It was most certainly to be something terrible.

"I'll be in my Ready Room." Peluna replied crisply, looking to her Executive Officer, Captain Francis McCormick, giving him a nod to indicate that he had the conn. He quickly saluted, needing no further orders, knowing the importance of FLASH Traffic. The Admiral unconsciously straightened her Alliance Blues Battle Duty Uniform Blouse as she left the CIC, heading towards the small room set to the back of it where a Marine Sergeant-At-Arms guarded the Admiral's Ready Room, the MP Sergeant saluting her with his Hadne-Keder M500 Storm Shotgun by holding his weapon at attention, holding it vertically in front of him for a moment as she passed by before returning it to port arms, diagonal to his body, ready to use. She entered her Ready Room, toggling the door to close and lock behind her as she went to her small desk with her personal terminal on it, the computer having a SecureNet connection through the li-fi network for any classified or secret traffic. FLASH certainly constituted that. Peluna took to her seat before picking up her Defense Secure Network Phone and dialed the number indicated through the FLASH Message she pulled up on her monitor, knowing that number and who it would connect to.

" _Admiral Grissom."_

"Fleet Master. It's Admiral Shule." The Fourth Fleet Commander replied crisply, wasting no time. She didn't know what went wrong, but she didn't doubt Fourth Fleet would be involved. Likely, it would involve the region near the Skyllian Verge, her normal area of operations.

" _Pel."_ The old, assured voice of Fleet Admiral Jon Grissom sounded worse than usual, undoubtedly dealing with whatever conflagration had arisen. She didn't envy his position. _"Pel, how soon can you jump back into Knossos System?"_

"Full burn? Forty hours, depending on Relay traffic." Shule replied, trying to hide the surprise in her voice. She had just been in the Knossos System three days prior on a high-priority pick-up that was a farce. Fourth Fleet had been flying slow and steady throughout most of the Systems Alliance holdings, hitting every major colony and making obvious scheduled stops to perform the bait-and-switch that Grissom had detailed her Fleet to do in order to throw off the scent of Garm Jor'raddah, a criminal of the most evil kind. The Jackal was still languishing in a Therum jail cell while the galaxy was under the impression she had collected him from the Marshal of Therum, some ridiculously young woman who had somehow managed to collar one of the worst pieces of shit the galaxy had to offer. Peluna hadn't had an opportunity to meet the Marshal, but she had heard some interesting stories about the youthful Marshal. "What's going on, Jon?"

" _Pel, Bats are hitting Therum as we speak with a Fleet at least a third again bigger than your own."_ Grissom replied, his voice haggard. Shule felt her throat dry up, remembering well when the news of Mindoir had come across… a week after it had happened. Yet the Fleet Master had said 'as we speak', meaning that they were still there, that they hadn't left. It wouldn't be like Mindoir, not if she had anything to say about it. _"_ Moctezuma _is still in system, trying to make life difficult for the Bats, and it sounds like Rhys had one of his Corvettes do a kamikaze run at full FTL into their Dreadnaught. Crazy fucking stupid, but it might have crippled that_ Capital _-Class. If that's the case, then Fourth Fleet stands a chance."_

"With BG _Moctezuma_ and Fourth Fleet in-system, we can certainly circle the wagons and hit them from multiple directions." Shule nodded, already seeing the possibilities. "I'm surprise we got a message out."

" _Our girl on Therum used a Relay to send a distress call to the Citadel, evidently."_ The Fleet Master replied, getting the Admiral to grunt in surprise. Well, with the comms buoy undoubtedly destroyed, the Marshal came up with an interesting contingency. Good for her. _"I don't doubt she's got the Marines on her side swiping at whatever lands, but Therum is a Tier I Colony that Eldfell-Ashland dumps as little money as possible into. They won't be able to hold back the wolves."_

"I'll spin up the ships and get my Marines ready for some slug-stomping." The Fleet Commander replied, her voice ice cold. Batarians were a thorn in the Systems Alliance side, and had been growing worse over the years. Sooner or later, the Blinks were going to do something stupid enough to let the dogs of war off the leash, and Peluna rather looked forward to see if the Hegemony was half as good as they claimed. She had a full Brigade of Marines to make someone's life as short and as miserable as possible, and no doubt the Jarheads were getting stir crazy being stuck on Naval boats with little opportunity to grunt and shoot at something. "Recommended actions, Fleet Master?"

" _Full prejudice, no quarter given."_ Jon Grissom replied, making Peluna's eyes widen slightly. This wasn't some politician speaking out of both sides of the mouth, ready to stammer out apologies or going back on his or her word. This was Jon _fucking_ Grissom letting her and her Fleet off the leash. If they found Batarians in Knossos Space, they had full authority to fire first and keep firing until their ships weren't enough to be two atoms colliding. _"You might have… outside assistance. The message went through the Citadel, and they passed it to us immediately. I'd expect some Turian hothead ready to pounce on something on the sheer fact that there's something to do. I'm flexing the Tenth Scout Flotilla as well to action on. We can't afford those ships to leave, Peluna. We both know the Jackal is still down there, and I'm not letting another colony get reaved."_

"Turians I can live with if they play nice." Turians wouldn't play nice with the Batarians, which was a plus. The addition of Captain Steven Hackett would be nice as well, the Tenth Flotilla made up of fast ships with quick-firing weapons meant to drain shields quickly. Between Fourth Fleet, a Scout Flotilla, and a Battle Group, they would have the numbers to take on the Bats, and saturate them on all sides. The Turians would probably want to mop up afterwards.

" _Just remember that it's likely that there will be people captured and probably invested upon those ships, Pel."_ Grissom reminded her, making the Admiral's mouth twist sourly. _"If that's the case, same orders apply. As much as I'd like to free them, a couple dozen or hundred hostages can't let us be deterred to preventing not only this attack, but also the next future one. The Bats need to feel the boot, Pel. I'm picking you to do it, and I'll suffer whatever repercussions become of it."_

"Understood, sir." Shule replied, knowing exactly what Jon was referencing to. She might have to shoot at ships with human beings on it, chipped and collared. As bad as that was to do, it was necessary collateral damage to prevent another colony raid, to show that there was no profit in such actions. Something that politicians often forgot when it came to them staring at their polls for public opinion instead of remembering that those were the very reasons they were elected in the first place; to make these kinds of decisions. Thank the Lord that Grissom was born with a stiff spine and a pair of big hairy brass ones. "We're in the middle of Fleet static charge dump and refueling, and we should be able to bug out-of-system in about an hour and a half. That'll give me time to coordinate with my Captains and my Marine Commanders with expectations and likely actions upon arrival."

" _Good. Make it happen."_ Grissom was never one to micromanage his Admirals, in which Shule was grateful for. _"Be careful out there, Pel. I'm sending you into a war that we're probably already half lost."_

"Then I guess I don't have to worry about the Blinks retreating then, do I?"

* * *

 **Port Hanshan, Noveria, Pax System, Horsehead Nebula, May 22 2175**

Centurion Magnus Nihlus Kryik stood in the middle of the office as he watched the last culprit get taken down with a simple fling of the wrist by Strike Huntress Tela Vasir, the Batarian in question crashing into a plastisteel wall hard enough for all four of his eyes to roll into the back of his head. The sight of it was both gratifying and satisfying as the Special Forces Warrior looked over to the Illuminated Primacy Shadow Strike Operative Kya Drang as the Drell Sniper moved over to the sapient in question and began to restrain his arms and ankles with a full body manacle. Unfortunately for Gris Kabanor of the Malturnin Exports Conglomerate, he was found having been a part of the Trail of Tears, and had thought that being on a non-Council planet like Noveria would give him some sort of protection from the authority of the Citadel. On, sure, the Noverian Administration Board squawked when the Corvette-Class THV _Unbridled Justice_ had landed without permission, and squeaked when no less than seven SPECTREs had come into their little domain and started doing what they did best; trampling about with absolutely no regard to the opinions of others. One Director had been zapped with a non-lethal charge from Jondum Bau's OmniTool for merely trying to argue back about the legality of it, the semi-electrocution the only objection the Special Tasks Group Operative needed to voice. Another, a Turian, had tried going for his self-defense pistol. That one had gotten a very painful strike from the blade of Kya Drang's hand, hitting an important nerve cluster just inside the Turian's cowl. He had gone down in a heap of twitching limbs.

Suddenly, the Board got _very_ cooperative after that.

There had been three conspirators that had been a part of the Trail of Tears in Noveria, and they hadn't been small-time players in that ring of misery. There were still strikes and raids going on throughout the galaxy done by the finest to collect everyone that had been involved. Citadel News Network was following the raids closely, and there was no doubt that the reaction was positive as the filth was swept up and collected in due haste, the Office of Special Tactics, the C-SEC Rapid Response Unit, the Turian Blackwatch, the Asari Order of Retribution, and the Salarian Special Tasks Group getting most of the credit while minor agencies were mentioned as well. The accompanying trials that would be held by just about every government in Council Space would be a field day as the ringleaders, conspirators, co-conspirators, and operatives were charged with the fullness of the crimes, not just necessarily their parts in it. It was going to be a very busy set of months in the court systems around the galaxy, and as Sam would say, a day that the law stands tall.

Taking a look at the unconscious body of Gris Kabanor, it was certainly a day that made it all worthwhile.

A peculiar chime came from his left wrist, and Nihlus frowned as he saw the red-skin flash of his Council-issued OmniTool flickering at a low Wattage setting, indicating that he had a priority message coming over the SPECTRE SecureNet. That was Spirits-be-damned unusual; Nihlus usually had a sixth sense in figuring out when _s'kak_ was about to go wrong. A priority message meant something had gone wrong somewhere, and he was being alerted. His eyes flickered to his six comrades, seeing that none of their red-skinned OmniTools were flickering, meant that it was for him and him alone, being the Talon Leader for this particular Strike Force. Nihlus looked over to Tela, who saw his OmniTool flickering, the Maiden frowning as well. They were in the middle of an Op, and he was getting a priority message. That did not bode well.

"We have this." Vasir commented softly, keeping both her eyes and her Elite Arms CS-18 Rapidstrike Submachine Gun on the target. "Go answer your FLASH Message." Kya nodded as she finished binding the Batarian up, getting a hand from Elias Korvan lifting Kabanor onto his feet for detainment. Nihlus nodded once as he turned away and moved away from the crime scene, raising up his OmniTool and touching it to his personal communicator to connect his communicator with the incoming call.

"Kryik here." Nihlus spoke up, holding his OmniTool by his head to keep connected to whomever the transmitter was, undoubtedly kiloParsecs away. It was a means of communication only available to Special Tactics Operatives, to personally communicate across the galaxy as long as there was li-fi connection without the use of a terminal.

" _Officer Kanus Hesperian here._ " The sound of a Turians voice came through his communicator, and Nihlus vaguely remembered the Officer in question, working in the Office of Civil Complaints, the _real_ OCC Office. Officer Hesperian was an Office of Special Tactics Support Officer, one who had been vetted and accepted for his skills regarding intelligence-gathering and tactical advisory. Even operatives such as he needed people backing him up with knowledge, intelligence, and equipment. _"We've received FLASH Traffic from Therum. It was addressed to you."_

"Sam." Nihlus realized quickly, feeling his gizzard sinking. She was literally the only person he knew in that part of space, and the only one who would know him and who he was. He had been messaging her ever since Revan, talking to her in between missions destroying the Trail of Tears, both keeping her abreast of their progress and… well, getting to know her as well. In Sam Collins he had found a sort of kindred spirit, a cop of righteousness and resolve. A part of him was intrigued by this young human female that, while young and inexperienced, had the audacity to continue on where others would falter or fail, working well with not one but _three_ Council Agents. She was currently the Marshal of Therum, and had somehow captured not only the largest crime boss of her planet, but Garm Jor'raddah as well. If she sent something resembling FLASH Traffic, something terrible must be happening. His first thought was the Jackal, that he had either escaped, or someone had come for him to release him. Something like that was entirely plausible.

" _Yes, your pet Human."_ Nihlus deigned not to reply to that particular connotation. _"She used a Relay as an emergency distress signal and gave us an SOS and a message by using Morse Code."_ Huh, clever. But that meant the ExtraNet was down on Therum, probably due to a downed comms buoy. Or, more likely, a destroyed comms buoy. So Sam had used a means available to her, knowing from him that such things were monitored. She had also used an emergency code that Turians would have recognized; on the hopes they wouldn't ignore it. That meant their situation must be dire. _"I'm sending the FLASH Traffic to your SecureNet Box now, but you might want to get to Therum as soon as possible. We've notified the Alliance and we're going to spin up Twenty-third Fleet and Twenty-Ninth Fleet, but that will take time. We're not even sure if an Alliance Fleet will be enough, and by what the message described, your Human is fully expecting a ground war._

" _Batarians have invaded Therum."_ The Officer informed him, and Nihlus' mandibles flared open in shock and horror.

"Spirits." The Blackwatch Commando replied, feeling his heart thudding in his carapace harder at the thought. A Batarian Fleet was no laughing matter, and if it were intent on making slaving runs? The thought of Sam being captured by one of those disgusting sire- _vracking_ barefaced sons of goats filled him with dread. Unfettering those captured and sold by the Hegemony's 'rebellious' elements was generally a dim prospect thanks to their collars and control chips. Most had Final Protocol explosives to kill the slave to prevent rescue. The thought of someone stapling a control chip into Sam's medulla oblongata had the Turian growling loud enough that even Tela noted it, looking at him in concern. "Send the message. I'll be thrusters-up in thirty." Nihlus killed the call, lowering his red-hued OmniTool as he looked to his team of SPECTREs, and then to their prey left restrained in the grasp of Kya Drang and Elias Korvan. "Tela, I'll need you to continue on here. I am needed in Therum.

"Sam's in trouble."

The Strike Huntress frowned at the admission, looking slowly over to Jondum Bau, who had been happily pillaging Gris Kabanor's hard drive and Cloud servers for any pertinent information, stopping when Kryik announced that he was leaving and why. The Asari Maiden and Salarian Operative exchanged a long look between the both of them, wordless but not without meaning. Bau nodded once.

"Then we are coming." Vasir replied, holstering her CS-18 Submachine Gun against her chest, the weapon retracting to its carrying configuration. "We are practically loaded to fight a war against a dug-in mercenary company, so whatever it is we might be facing, we shall have the arms and equipment to do so. We can be in Knossos Space inside of sixteen hours."

"We're going to need it. Batarians have a Fleet over Therum, evidently." Kryik informed the Strike Huntress, who went grey to the scales at the thought. No one in the room needed to be told what that meant, or what that might mean would be happening on the Alliance Colony. If the Batarians sent a Fleet, it was either a call for war, or a massive slaver raid. "I'd expect the worst; SIU Operatives, Heavy Krogan Infantry… Pillars-Priests."

"Goddess." Tela swore, shaking her head. "Three will not be enough, Nihlus."

"Four." Elias Korvan volunteered, surprising Kryik. "This Sam of your is the one that discovered the Revan House of Horrors, yes? The reason we've been running around for the past week snatching-and-grabbing barefaced like these?" He shook the Batarian in question to identify what he meant. Nihlus merely nodded. "There were hatchlings in that sire- _vracking_ camp, and she found it. She needs our help? Count me in."

"I as well." Kya added in, the Drell Assassin nodding in acceptance. "It is our job to prevent such things, and failing that, punish those that try."

"Never thought we'd be flying in to _save_ Humans." Abadexus Linaseus commented wryly, his talons picking at one of his fringe-prongs, the Turian equivalent of rubbing the back of his head as the Asari were wont to do. "Both Kya and Elias are correct, we have a job and a duty to stop such things, and honor to uphold." The former Cabalist then smiled, his mandibles going wide. "Besides, you'll need the help with the Pillars-Priests. Spirits know how much a pain in the _clochea_ they can be."

"Hmm." Khel Burram grunted, scratching under his flat chin with a massive paw. "Seriously outnumbered. Odds of survival are low." The Krogan shrugged as his three-fingered hand dropped to the grip of his Krogish Eezo-powered Warhammer. "What are we waiting for?"

* * *

Author's Note: The Office of Civil Complaints was an idea that I had when thinking about the Office of Special Tactics. SPECTREs are supposed to be clandestine, but having a well-known organization with a clearly identified headquarters (like, say, 10 Downing Street or Langley) is more of a front than the actual 'brains'. I don't doubt that almost all Intelligence Branches have 'public' offices and then the not-so-public ones. The OCC will be one of those hidden facets that provides the meat and brains of the Office SpecTRe. Remember this, kiddies; you'll be seeing it in the sequel.

Tap tap tap, tap-tap-tap, tap tap tap (SOS) - Morse Code was invented during the time of the telegraph, and is still in use to this day as the backbone of emergency communications. The letter 'S' is three long, and the letter 'O' is three short. The phrase is actually 'Save Our Souls', but for a Turian, 'Save Our Spirits' works just as well. And yes, the American Navy still uses this, while the Army goes for the Tap Code (which is like ASCII).

FLASH - Actually, this is a code word in the American government for emergency protocols back in the '50's. I don't actually know what it stands for (it might not be an acronym), so I made one up. As far as coming up with one on the fly, it's not bad.

Tahoma - Real Life Mountain, Mount Rainier, in Washington State. I see that sucker every day (its really hard to miss since there's no mountains around it). 'Tahoma' is the Puyallup Nation name for the mountain (translates to Big Sky Rock, I think) and the nearby city gets its name from the mountain, Tacoma.

Sphere of Influence - How the American Navy works. An Aircraft Carrier (flagship) has a range that extends as far as its fighters and bombers, as well as its various vessels ranging from Destroyers and Submarines, Cruisers and Gunboats. An American Naval Fleet has the ability to control an extreme portion of an ocean (and in the case of the Indian Ocean, practically all of it) and can last as long as they have supplies (which more can be flown in, so theoretically until they run out of parts since the big boats are all nuclear powered). The Army 'somewhat' operates with these rules, though we call these 'zones', 'areas', and 'lanes'. Think of it this way; if you are in a tank that has a range of 2 kilometers of effective range (which our Abrams can do better than that), then the Sphere of Influence is 2 kilometers. If you send out dismounts for better eyes on, taking away dead zones, creating choke points, and denying routes of availability, then you get an idea what the Navy does on the water. But with much bigger, much better weapons. The Army, as awesome as we can be, cannot obliterate a country (we can wreck one or two if needed). The Navy? They can knock your ass out from over the horizon. They are the threat that protects America (and as I understand it, the British operate under the same rules and operations).

RICO Act - The Racketeering Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act is a Federal Mandate in America in which the Feds use against Mafias and other criminal organizations to charge _everyone_ with _everything_ pertaining to the acts of criminality. If you're a numbers runner and someone else in the organization committed a murder because he was ordered to? Guess what, you'll get murder charges, too. This was to close the loophole known as _by proxy_ , in which someone ordering to commit a murder would get murder charges as oppose to conspiracy, but now pertains to just about anything in the organization if enough evidence is collected.

Red OmniTool - back in my Mass Effect vs. Aliens Series, I had made it to where SPRECTREs were 'issued' red Omnitools instead of that burnt sunburst orange one as a means of identification that they were who they were, and that no one else could have it. It was both badge and threat, and I liked the idea. I do mention in the Revan Arc that Nihlus does possess a red-skinned Omnitool, though Sam doesn't understand the significance of it.

Kya Drang, Elias Korvan - Two old school OC's of mine going back to the Battle Series (though Kya didn't make the cut as due to lack of readers, I never got past the Battle of Tuchanka, though she was to appear in the third story, Battle of the Citadel), and also in Mass Effect vs. Aliens 2: Valkyrie Rising, in which they were in Janey Shepard's SPECTRE Training School, both SPECTRE Recruits. Elias is a Special Operations Warrior of the Final Line (the Turian equivalent of the Roman Legionnaire's First _phylum_ of the First _cohort_ , the best and most experienced veterans in the lead of the Army, known as the Vanguard, but instead covering retreats), while Kya Drang is a Shadow Strike Assassin of the Kahje Illuminated Primacy.

Abadexus Linaseus - A Special Operations Warrior, a Turian Cabalist. Probably will make him an Adapt. Will probably borrow heavily from ME3's Multiplayer as well as LogicalPremise's _Encyclopedia Biotica_ , plus some Jedi Mind Tricks. Because the only two canon Turian biotics (Saren Arterius and Nyreen Kandros) were rather… unflattering.

Khel Burram - Pinnacle Station's resident Krogan. No idea why he was there. Warhammer? Krogan smash! And it's not even Forty Thousand A.D. yet!


	26. Libera Nos A Malo, VI

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 22 2175**

Author's Note: Much about the Batarians comes from the Addendums from LogicalPremise's works, mostly from the Cerberus Files. They are an in-depth exposits on the various races, their politics, their strengths and weaknesses, and the socio-psychological mannerisms. For those interested in learning instead of just reading, I suggest checking these out, as some of the 'updates' are rather humorous.

And don't expect the normal gamut of 'abilities'. This is war, not a three-man squad with selectable powers.

* * *

"It's a Pillars-Priest!"

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins looked over to Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard as she announced what she had recognized, the redhead paling considerably as the fear in her voice was evident. The young woman had never heard of a 'Pillars-Priest', but she knew that the Batarians believed in the Pillars of Strength, some Khar'shan-located artifact and ancient script that most mankind simply called the Batarian Bible. She had researched the Batarians, of course, relying on more documented studies than just talk-shop personalities and EarthGov politician talk to learn about the race that bordered her jurisdiction. The Pillars of Strength described the tenets of what a Batarians should do to make his mark on society, and how to increase by means of physical prowess, social manipulation, financial gain, and caste recognition. It was, at best, a muddled dichotomy of an arrogant breed that saw the females of its kind as sub-human (or perhaps sub-Batarian), and every other race as beneath them. Their ventures and practices suggested that they were of the belief that they were created perfect, that it was their manifest destiny to rule above all others, and than anyone else was merely vassals to feed into their power schemes.

Needless to say, Sam hadn't been too impressed with what she had discovered.

Collins looked over the protective barrier of the alumnisteel Conex door that had been used as cover from gunfire to see what Shepard had spotted that had the Navy Non-Com so frightened. As a survivor of Mindoir, Jane had undoubtedly recognized the threat from her experiences from that terrible ordeal, explaining her loss of control. What worried the Marshal was what would bring her to such a frightened state. Seeing a normal Batarian militiaman had made her angry. She had even kept her cool fighting against what appeared to by Special Intervention Unit Warriors, SpecOp Batarians who were generally better equipped and better trained than the normal-run of soldier. If something terrified Chief Shepard this badly, then it was probably worth being worried about.

What she spotted was a Batarian dressed in blood-red robes with black under cloth, not so different from the cassock of a Catholic Priest. No weapons or armor apparent.

"What can it do?" Sam asked as she ducked back down behind the barrier, holding her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle at the ready, looking to the MP who was trembling slightly as Shepard stayed under cover. Seeing her visibly shake so had the Marshal worried; a terrified soldier could be a threat to themselves and others if they panicked. "Jane! What is a Pillars-Priest?" Jane just looked at her, her green eyes wide with fear as her lower lip quaked, looking all too similar to that of a terrified child. She had regressed to whatever memory had frightened her so, and was obviously locked into that state. Sam would know; she was Autistic, after all.

"You are all _monkeys_."

Sam poked her head out from cover, seeing the Batarian in the red cassock standing but fifty meters away, still seemingly unarmed, and impossibly alone. Addressing them. His tone was filled with contempt and scorn as his words were translated by her OmniTool's multilingual translation software, turning his Kharshish into Standard Alliance English. Collins briefly wondered if the 'Pillars' part had anything to do with his abilities. Was he a superior fighter? A Commander? Jane was huddled under cover, obviously not in the present as she whimpered, her Nexus' Gladius Battle Rifle almost sagging out of her hands as she practically cradled herself.

"Through my will, my deeds will go noticed." The Batarian continued, his arrogant tone without a care in the world, as if he knew facing a platoon of Systems Alliance Marines was of no consequence. That had the Marshal worried. "You are all fit to serve, as it should be. Look upon me, monkeys, and gaze upon the glory of one who walks the Path of the Pillars. Heed me and tremble."

The Batarian raised his hands up in a spreading fashion, and much to Collins' surprise, she saw the air around him shimmer and waver, like the illusion of heat surrounding him. She knew what that meant, having worked around Strike Huntress Tela Vasir on Revan.

"BIOKINETIC!" She shouted warning to those who remained of the Andromeda Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment after surviving a Courser Hunter/Killer Vessel assault as well as that of a team of SIU Operatives. "Overwhelm and flanking maneuvers! Hit him from all sides!" The Marshal raised her Modulus and began firing at the Pillars-Priest, the cracking of gunfire coming from behind her as the Marines too began to fire at the Batarian, only for blue sparks of energy to flash around him as they struck short of him, ricocheting away.

The Batarian had encased himself in a biokinetically-created shield.

The Marines continued to fire for fifteen seconds as the sparks of energy persisted without any noticeable degradation in the spherical barrier surrounding the Pillars-Priest as Sam finally called for a cease-fire, seeing no point in wasting their ammo blocks on something that had an answer for gunfire. If they wanted to defeat the creature, they were going to have to out-think it, outmaneuver it, or find a weakness and exploit it.

"Useless." The Batarian spoke, identifying either themselves or their efforts, wrinkling its lined face with an ugly smile as the shimmering sphere shrunk into the palms of his hands as he brought them forth in applause quickly.

The world exploded in front of them.

Sam felt herself behind tossed about like a child's play toy, thrown violently backwards as she skidded across the dirt, her armor grinding into the earth as she felt the air leaving her lungs violently. She groaned and coughed as she tried to roll back into an upright position, and looked at where their defensive position once was. The Conex door was now warped into a parabolic curve, knocked off its PlastiGel sandbags and flipped over, making it rather worthless for cover. The sandbags themselves were sprayed about in an arc, their contents scattered about, equally worthless. Collins could hear the moans of pain as she got onto one knee, still coughing from her wind from being knocked out of her, looking at the being that had caused the devastation.

No wonder Jane had been so afraid if it were capable of such. There was no way they were going to be able to overwhelm something like this, not if it could bounce their gunfire with seemingly little effect.

"Prostrate yourselves before me." The Pillars-Priest continued, his voice loud and degrading, still standing in the exact same spot he was in before, making no attempt at finding cover or any kind of tactical deployment. He stood out in the open for all to see, completely self-assured. "What I offer is a path to greatness and prosperity."

Sam drew leather and fired her Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver at the Pillars-Priest, fanning the hammer with her right hand as she went through all six shots in two seconds, filling the heatsink to capacity quickly with the dispensed entropic heat of the 12.5 gram NiFe metal rounds being mass-dropped and magnetically accelerated through the heavy-caliber pistol's long buntline barrel. Each shot was capable of delivering almost four thousand Joules of kinetic energy upon a target, the round traveling at a percent of a percent of the speed of light like most sidearms. Sam saw the Pillars-Priest deflect each of the six shots with muted shock as her thumb hit the cylinder release mechanism to dispense the heat build-up from her revolver, exposing the large rotating heatsink to the atmo to eject the heat from the six separate heatsink charges conventionally for three seconds before snapping the cylinder back into place and fanning another six shots at the Batarian. Like before, the rounds struck something mirage-like before him, ricocheting away uselessly.

"Surrender," The Pillar-Priest spoke, "and I will be merciful. Lenient, even." An ugly smile came to the Khar'shanian's face as he displayed fang-like teeth as his lips drew back in a rictus grin, looking right at Collins. "You will be my personal pleasure slave, monkey. Never will you have to work a field, haul heavy supplies, or live in the fetid hovels where we keep those who defy their rightful masters. You will be cared for, looked after, even envied by others of your kind. No rags will grace your body, and never will you taste the lash or the searing pain of the chip. You will be mine to own, never shared or passed around to others. A trophy, after all, is a mark of distinguished value. All you have to do is bow and accept."

"How about 'fuck you'?" Sam seethed, her voice ugly as she raised up her OmniTool and initiated her 'flash' program from her cop apps. The AppleCorp iTool lit up at a hundred thousand luminosity in an instant as it flashed everything in front of the Marshal, the blinding light yet another non-lethal tool in her disposal. Much to her surprise, she saw that the Batarian was clutching at his four eyes, slightly bent over and acting confused. She recognized in an instant that she had a moment of opportunity to exploit.

Sam Collins sprinted forward and force-tackled the Pillars-Priest with her left shoulder just like she had seen in EUCC.

The Human Marshal landed on top of the Batarian Biotic with her arms wrapped around his waist as she immediately moved into a position known as 'the low mount'; she took the tactically superior position by leaping upward upon the Batarian's exposed torso and locking his waist in between her legs, tightening them to better control her position and his movements. Now in the dominate ground grappling position of the low mount, Sam took full advantage of their restrictive personal space, her superior position, and her knowledge of Systems Alliance Marine Corps Martial Arts Program (MCMAP), taught to her at the Marshal's Academy. She, like most Deputies who had undergone the training, had come out of the Combative qualified as a Green Belt, mid-tier. With her in the superior position and this knowledge kept in her Autistic mind, Sam took full advantage of the situation.

Her first strike was a hard right elbow to the Batarian's temple, just next to his left set of eyes. It was followed through with a devastating hammer fist strike with the same hand on the return, clipping the side of the chin where a good solid hit would incapacitate most human beings.

"I will not be your personal _fucking WHORE!_ " Sam screamed out as she lashed out with her left hand, going for a webbed strike with the inside of her forefinger and thumb, striking the Pillars-Priest in the throat with enough force to send him gagging, all four of his eyes twisting inward. Her hands slipped inside the Pillar-Priests' collar, crossing over at the wrists as the left hand grabbed the inside of the right side of the collar, while the right hand did the opposite, grabbing the left side of the collar. The Marshal's face went ugly as she pulled her hands apart while squeezing the collar tight, going for a front cross-collar Gi choke. The Batarians' eyes went wide as his hands immediately went to her wrists in an effort to pull them away, tightening the pressure the blades of her hands had on his throat while cinching the collar tighter around his neck. The Pillars-Priest fought and struggled to get out of the submission-styled choke, his feet bucking and kicking out as his body jerked back and forth to find an avenue of escape. Sam leaned forward as she pulled harder, grunting in effort as she heard the gurgling noises coming from the Batarians' mouth as he fought to breath, his panicking hands clenching at her head to push her back. She merely ducked her head into his chest, laying her ear against his spectral muscles and continued to pull apart in a ripping motion.

Thirty seconds later, the panicking limbs and choking noises ceased.

Collins slowly sat up as she released the Gi choke, looking at her opponent, his four eyes rolled upward as his mouth languished open, head titled back slightly. It was hard to tell with his dark eyes if he were alive or not, so Sam pulled her Model 696 out and pressed the barrel of her revolver against his forehead, thumbed the hammer back, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the metal canyons of the Bloodsalt District as a fan of red-orange blood and gore exited out somewhere from the crown of the Biotic's head, giving her the assurance that he wouldn't be troubling anybody anymore.

" _HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AMAZING!_ " Came the excited voice of Private Blake Bell, running up from where the Andromeda Company defensive position was located, the Marine's face jubilant. "You just killed a Biotic with your bare _fucking_ hands! With a MCMAP choke hold, at that!"

"Yeah." Sam felt the strength and energy that adrenaline brought leave her suddenly as she felt woozy and tired, feeling slightly sick to her stomach from adrenal shock. She looked down to the Batarian for a moment before slowly standing up, stepping away from his corpse as she looked back at Bell. "What's the status of your Marine Company, Bell?"

"I… uh." The Private looked back to the Conex's that had been fortified, wrecked by gunfire from the SIU Agents and the biokinetic force of the Pillars-Priest. "Let me go find Corporal Mananas or Lancie Vargas. That's what they do." Bell smiled as he promptly saluted her with his right hand, his Hadne-Keder M7 Lancer Assault Rifle held in his left as he turned about and ran back to the position. Collins figured she should do the same, to check up on Chief Shepard, as well as Seaman Lawrence Frazier and Seaman Apprentice Katarina Solodenke. Her booted feet felt heavy as she plodded back over to the defensive point, frowning at the sight of the destroyed Conex door that had been the ground cover, now bent into a wishbone and laying on its flattened end, practically worthless as cover. Bell had gone up to the second level of Conex's to undoubtedly check in on his Team Leader and Squad Leader as Sam went to where she had seen Shepard last before the Pillars-Priest had blasted them all with that… thunderclap thing. She quickly found Shepard lying back against a Conex, conscious and responsive, but otherwise in pain.

"Jane, you okay?" Sam asked when she reached the Non-Com, seeing Shepard wince.

"Feels like a giant went up and slapped me hard." The Petty Officer replied, slowly getting back to her feet. "I'm not sure what hurt worse, the biokinetic hit or slamming into the Conex. Armor took the brunt of it, though." Jane's green eyes went to her own. "The Pillars-Priest?" Her voice was edged with fear with the question.

"Dead. Put a round through his head just to be certain." The Marshal answered, feeling a little sickens by her answer. She had defeated the creature in what most would consider honorable combat; hell, he had the advantage! Perhaps it was because she had never killed with her bare hands before, though she had killed that Krogan with a knife. That hadn't been skill though, more like luck and adrenaline working together, giving her the will and the speed to survive. The Batarian had lost due to skill and proficiency, and she had heard his last choking breaths as she wrung the life out of him, blowing his brains out afterwards only because they couldn't afford to face him twice. Perhaps… his words had affected her on a personal level, that disgusting offer of a life of 'pleasurable' servitude as a sex slave for such a revolting creature. He had made it personal, so she had made it personal. Cops were supposed to be better than that, but then again, her colony was in the middle of a slave raid and a war. Ethics were just going to have to go on the back burner for the time being. Jane nodded her head with Sam's answer, standing on her feet, a little wobbly as she winced and put a hand to her back, contorting herself to one side to ease whatever ache or pain she was feeling. "We need to check up on Frazier and Solo next."

"Got it." The Chief replied, looking up to the second level with a grimace. "Um… a hand up? Don't think I'm up for climbing just yet, or lifting even your lightweight up."

"I understand." Sam replied, interlacing her fingers and giving the Chief a stepping platform as Shepard put her left foot into the cup of her hands as Sam lifted upward at the same time the Non-Com pistoled upward with one left, her hands grasping the edge of the Conex ledge. Collins grunted slightly as she lifted her hands up to shoulder level, boosting the MP as far as was necessary until Jane made it over with a few grunts. The redhead laid on the Conex and offered a hand downward as Collins jumped up to grab the ledge herself, almost too short to make it as her fingers grasped the metal container, throwing one leg up and over onto the Conex as Jane grabbed her by her armor and helped haul her up. Sam rolled up onto the Conex, sitting up once she rolled onto her back and got back on her feet. She looked around immediately and regretted what she saw. There had been eight Marines and two Sailors on the second-level, using PlastiGel sandbags for defense against small arms.

It had done nothing against the twin multi-barreled mini guns of the Hunter/Killer Courser aircraft.

Of the eight Marines, only two were still alive, both seriously wounded. The rest had taken refuge behind the sandbags when the Courser had come, for what good it did. The defensive position probably stopped the first few bullets or so, but firing twelve rounds a second had torn right through the hardened PlastiGel like wet tissue paper, its contents spraying with the high-velocity strikes of the impacts. The men and women of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps who had taken refuge behind the sandbags had fared just as well as the sandbags had, their armor splintering and shattering as their kinetic shields were cracked, rounds piercing polyurethane ceramic plates and the flesh underneath. Sam looked at their bodies, gory remains that were broken and torn open, some literally in pieces. The sight almost had the young woman throw up. The two that were still alive had pulled themselves against the next Conex as a point of rest, their bodies not nearly so torn open, but heavily wounded still, to the point that survival was questionable.

Then she looked over to Seamen Frazier and Solodenke.

"Oh no…" Sam murmured as she saw Seaman Apprentice Katarina 'Solo' Solodenke kneeling on the metal roof of the Conex, cradling Seaman Lawrence Frazier, the young man almost appearing to be asleep except for the fact that a round had practically disemboweled him, his innards splayed about. The young Russian woman was keening softly as she cradled the Sailor's head, rocking back and forth as she clutched at him, her helmet off to exposed her tears and grief. Shepard stood besides Collins, looking at the scene in mute shock, the Non-Com rocked back slightly at the sight of it. The dark-skinned Sailor had been one of her own, a member of her Section.

"H-he pulled me a-away at the last-t second." Solo wept out, still holding onto Frazier, as if letting his body go would be to let him go. Her thickly accented voice was made almost unintelligible by her weeping as she clutched onto the Seaman's body. "H-he saved m-my life." Sam felt the bitter twist of guilt cut deep into her heart as she looked at the Sailor and the Marines on the Conex, knowing that they were there because of her. Frazier had been on the Harley-Davidson Motor Company, Inc. Iron 883 Contragravity Speed bike because she had wanted to run a patrol. She looked back over her shoulder to see the _Vratanka-_ Class Corvette Deployment Vessel that hovered over the central part of Nova Yekaterinburg, unobstructed and unmolested. She could hear the sound of gunfire crackling sporadically throughout the city, pockets of invaders or defenders taking advantage of opportunities of attack. She looked further up into the red-tinted Therum sky, seeing it deepening to maroon, indicating that it would be dusk soon. Sam sighed at the sight, trying to think of what a thirteen-and-a-half hour night might bring to the city of No'burg. She looked over to Shepard, whose face was a mask of barely-contained grief and resolve, looking upon one of her dead Sailors, probably blaming herself as well.

"We'll need to find shelter for the night." Collins finally broke the reverie, looking at Frazier's body, wondering what the hell they were suppose to do with his body, as well as that of the Marines. She saw Private Bell walking towards him, his face pale and eyes haunted as he looked at her, his head shaking slightly. The four of them were on their own, evidently. They had wounded to consider, too, but the Marshal didn't think any amount of MediGel applications was going to help the two Marines on the second-level of Conex's, not with one of them missing a leg hastily tourniquet'ed and the other with half of his chest blown open. It was a wonder that they were both still alive, but without any proper medical care, they too would not last much longer. She looked to the Harley's, the 883's still in working order, but they only seated two people each, and weren't the best choice for carrying wounded. A quick check of her OmniTool showed that communications were still jammed or down, that any attempt to reach the Marshal's Office was out of the question. The thought of trying the boulevards with night coming seemed suicidal folly; no doubt the Batarians would control the main access points and have checkpoints established.

They were going to have to make do in the environs of No'burg itself.

* * *

Author's Note: NSFW! More of the Smexy Time! Rated '37' on the '50 Shades of Grey' Scale?

* * *

Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard took a quick about-face to check her six as Marshal Sam Collins led the procession of four people deeper into the favelas of Nova Yekaterinburg, her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms Gladius Battle Rifle sweeping the trash-strewn alley behind them as they tactically bound through the rats' maze warrens of the Conex complexes, looking for shelter for the night as white-blue Knossos disappeared from Therum's red-tinted skies and the night defended quickly. Marine Private Blake Bell trailed by Collins, his H-K M7 Lancer sweeping high for potential enemies on the roofs of the Conex's, while Seaman Apprentice Katarina 'Solo' Solodenke took third, her own Gladius Battle Rifle loose in her hands, neither up nor scanning, still in shock. Shepard had rear guard.

"Here we go."

Jane took a quick look back to see what Sam expected to see; an opened Conex container, its magnetically-sealed door jarringly open. Before the battle Marines and volunteers had distributed supplies and rations to the populous of No'burg, told to magnetically seal their door to prevent entry for the time being. Each Conex had bee stuffed with people while the population doubled, but there was still food and water for at least four days even for the surplus population. The Conex hadn't been damaged, and the door didn't look to be forced open, meaning the occupants had opened the door themselves. Jane snicked at the sight; dumbass miners had probably opened the door to either flee the city on foot or get in on the fight. Well, those were the nice scenarios, at least. Collins had surmised that there would probably be someone who would do something stupid in the face of danger, and thought it likely that they would find an alumnisteel container available. It wasn't like the citizens of No'burg were known for the cooperation, after all. Sam slapped her Nexus ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle onto her chest, magnetically locking it as she pulled leather and the Smith and Wesson Model 696 was in her hand, the mammoth-killer large and heavy as the Marshal quickly stepped into the darkened container to sweep-and-clear. She popped back out a couple of seconds later, the MA Revolver going back to the Kylex maglock holster on her left thighs she waved them in, indicating that it was safe.

The Conex was bereft of life, Shepard noted as she entered last, hitting the locking mechanism on the panel next to the door to close it and lock it, preventing any unwanted access.

"Where is everyone?" Solo asked, her voice a little out of it as the young Russian Sailor looked about the narrow Conex, seeing a triple set of bunk beds meant for adults, a partitioned portion meant to represent the common bathroom and showers, and a small set of lockers and cabinets meant for personal storage and equipment. There were cardboard boxes still set upon the common eating table shoved into one corner that contained the survival rations distributed for the miners, mostly full, as well as several PlastiGel jugs containing water. Neither being taken said a good deal. Sam noted it too and her response was to punch one of the metal frames of the nearby bunk bed, her fist pressing into the frame as her face grew cold and hard. It was unlikely that the miners had just upped and left leaving behind precious food and water. Jane could only hope they went to another Conex, but that was a fools' hope.

"I'm going to slather the door with some WonderGel. Just to be on the safe side" Shepard announced, more to break the tension in the Conex as the Non-Com locked her Gladius against her chest, seeing Private Bell nodding in understanding as Jane turned to the door and went and keyed up her Aldrin Labs' Bluewire OmniTool, selecting the 'dispenser' app, and choosing 'WonderGel' from the list available, the standard all-purpose adhesive useful for gluing two object together for bonding purposes. She didn't have much left in her reserves, her PlastiGel, WonderGel, MetalGel, CeramiGel and MediGel all sitting at less than one hundred grams each. Well, she was sitting in an unoccupied Conex, no doubt there would be a few common items she could use the 'Tool's minifacture suite to breakdown the necessary elements to plus up her supplies. The MP began to shoot a fine spray of WonderGel at the crevice of the door, to prevent the entrance from just being opened from magnetic disruption. She only used about a dozen grams as she coated most of the vertical crevice, satisfied with what she saw as the WonderGel hardened to something that was generally next to impossible to break with human strength alone, though a decent knife could cut it or chisel it off. Still, it was an added layer of defense. "We should be good here, but I'm keeping my Gladius near." Jane told the other three in the Conex with her as her hand went to the dog tags that she wore around her neck, imagining that she could feel Seaman Frazier's spare tag dangling there. She had taken it off his body for more reasons than just commemoration, but she knew better than to complain. Bell had twenty-four stashed on his kit somewhere, the sole survivor of his platoon. That had to be hard knowledge to have, but the young Marine hadn't said a word about it. Yet.

"So… sleeping arrangements?" Blake asked, his tone a little embarrassed as he realized that he was locked in a Conex with three women, and not a large Conex at that. Solo decided to take matters into her own hands by pushing the Marine into the nearest available bunk, Bell giving off a soft _'hey'_ as he fell on the bed as the Seaman Apprentice included herself into the same bunk, the metal roll down door sliding shut with a click, indicating privacy. Shepard couldn't help but grin at the sight as she looked over to Collins, who looked faintly amused as well as the door opened slightly a moment later, a Lancer Assault Rifle and a Gladius Battle Rifle being quickly placed on the floor in front of the bunk before the door closed for a second time, the holographic lock indicating that the door had been secured from the inside. It was a pretty telling tale in itself.

"Now I got a pretty good idea how a parent feels raising teenagers." Jane mused out loud, chuckling softly to herself as she saw Sam pull off her own Nexus Modulus Assault Rifle and Smith and Wesson, placing them on an available second-tier bunk as the Marshal looked at her in a peculiar manner. Instead of being so blatantly obvious about as the Seaman had been, instead Sam offered a hand towards Jane, indicating an invitation along the same lines. The redhead smiled softly as she pulled off her own Gladius Battle Rifle and Hadne-Keder M500 Storm Shotgun, setting them next to Sam's weapons. "Are you sure, Sam? With everything that's going on, I doubt I'm going to be… a gentleman about this. Figuratively speaking." Between the stress, the battle, and the fear, Jane knew she would be quite intoxicated by the thought of pure sexual gratification, the frustrations and fears fueling her desires and own personal needs. Not exactly someone willing to be patient or considerate to a professed virgin.

"Shut up, take off your armor, and be with me." Sam replied softly, her blue eyes dancing back and forth from side-to-side as she looked at Shepard, her face holding no doubt or nervousness in it as she began taking off her Aldrin Lab's Onyx Armor gauntlets, letting them clatter to the Conex floor. Jane just smirked as she began detaching her own electrostatically-affixed pieces of armor off of her ballistic bodysuit, pulling off the pieces in mere moments in her haste to take advantage of the situation. She could already feel the throbbing ache deep in her belly at the thought of a night of answering her biological need for sex, increased with the rush of adrenaline, battle, and violence. The brush with her own death and the smell of blood had touched her on a primal level, instinct and urges amplified as she practically ripped off her gauntlets, bracers, chest piece, and greaves, the Onyx Armor scattered across the floor as Collins did the same, her blue eyes only on her, steady and true. The thought of having this young woman standing in front of her fueled her actions as she tossed caution and inhibitions to the wind as she stood there in her black bodysuit, staring at Sam as she stood before her clothed in her own formfitting bodysuit, the elastic fabric conforming to the swells and curves of her lithe body. The sight inflamed her even more as Jane took two determined steps forward and pushed Sam against a wall, pressing her body into the Marshals', her lips meeting Sam's soft lips in a kiss that was both demanding and hungry as Jane pressed herself into Sam, her hands grabbing Sam's wrists and raising the younger woman's' arms above her head as she grinded her crotch into Collins' slow and hard, making the young woman take in a sharp breath. Jane pulled back for a moment, ending the kiss as she stared into Sam's blue eyes, seeing them staring back at her own emerald eyes. Her face was both flushed and excited as she quivered slightly in Jane's control, completely at the redhead's mercy.

God she wanted to fuck Sam. Hard.

"Too many layers." The brunette complained, her voice quivering slightly as Jane smiled, feeling the same way as she slid her hands down Sam's arms and down to where her bodysuit was adhered together with magnetic connectors, popping each one off with dramatic flair starting at the collar, exposing more and more flesh with each fastener released. When she erased the subtle swells of Sam's cleavage, the soft skin of her upper chest exposed, Sam panting heavily as she made no move to stop her, Jane leaned forward and caressed a sensitive spot along the younger woman's neck, parting her lips to taste the sensitive flesh between neck and shoulder, just above the clavicle, her lips sliding along the flesh as she nibbled on it. Collins shivered violently with surprise and excitement as she let off a gasp, her hands clutching at Jane. The redhead traced downward as she pupped off another fastener, kissing her way down Sam's chest and where the soft slight swell of her right breast began, covered by a royal blue sports bra. She passed by the obvious distractions front of her as she kissed her way downward as she got on her knees, finding the soft skin of the younger woman's abdomen, her inward curved waist traced by her hands as Jane found herself kissing each of the slightly-defined abdominal muscles that created a slight groove down the center of her body, leading towards her belly button. Jane spotted a multitude of shallow puncture points along Sam's belly, dimples in her flesh that indicated wounds. Jane looked upward to see Collins frowning slightly at her discovery, so Jane showed that it didn't concern her as she kissed one of the grooved dimples, her lips pursing on the healed wound before working lower still to the slightly raised swell of her lower belly as Jane continued to pull down the younger woman's bodysuit, reaching her narrow hips, and gave them a slight tug downward.

Jane found herself staring at the matching royal blue panties that Sam Collins wore, and gently placed a kiss upon the raised fabric that covered her mound.

"Jane…" Sam shivered as her voice quavered with excitement and nervousness, the younger woman gasping slightly as Jane smiled at the response she elicited as her lands guided the rest of the bodysuit of, her hands caressing Sam's firm, thin thighs as she did so before the garment landed in a heap on the floor, pooling around Collins' feet. The younger woman raised her feet slightly to kick the garment away as Shepard stood back on her feet, pressing her body against Sam's as she dragged her full breasts against the younger woman's skin, pressing her abdomen and hips against her to rub into the brunette's body, making her let off a moan that indicated that things were going very much according to plan. Jane let her hands go to the elastic band of Sam's sports bra and slipped her fingers inside of it, dragging her hands up the younger woman's ribcage as she pulled the undergarment off, forcing Collins to lift her arms to let the garment come off. The younger woman's arms returned to her quickly, automatically covering up her small breasts out of nervousness and habit, looking abashed as she did so, her forearms pressing against where her nipples laid.

"Nuh-uh." Jane smiled as she looked into Sam's eyes, her hands going to Sam's and gently guiding her arms away, exposing her small, rounded breasts, the half circular-shaped orbs only slightly tear-shaped, tipped with small pink nipples and areolas that were centered at the peaks of her mammaries. The redhead looked down at the small B-cup breasts now laid bared before her and gave the younger woman a lopsided grin. " _Mine_." She emphasized as Shepard lowered herself to one of Sam's nipples, seeing the pink flesh slightly raised with expectation. Jane helped herself to the nipple of Sam's right breast, wrapping her soft lips around the circumference of the semi-firm protrusion, manipulating it with her lips as she sucked on it gently. Collins whimpered with the action as Jane looked up as she continued to suck on the stiffening flesh that she was now teasing with the tip of her tongue, seeing that the younger woman wasn't indicating in any way for her to stop. Sam was panting rather hard as Jane continued to exploit the nipple with finesse, getting it to engorge fully as she slowly pulled away and began to work on the other nipple, Sam mewling softly. She continued this until the nipple went to its aching fullness, Jane satisfied with her work. She lifted herself up once more as she slid her arms around Sam, engulfing her in her embrace as their bodies pressed together, feeling the rasp of her ballistic bodysuit rubbing into Sam's bared flesh. "I want you in the _worst_ kinds of ways, Samantha Collins. I want to do things to you that are only legal in the Terminus Sectors." The younger woman shivered at that, looking at her with nervousness and lust, her flushed face and heavy breathing indicating that the brunette was most definitely in the mood.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Sam asked breathlessly, her voice weak but steady. Jane just smiled as she let her needs and her lust make her decisions for her as she pushed Sam into one of the available bunks. Thought and consideration never came into account as Shepard ripped open her own bodysuit, the magnetic connectors popping off quickly as she undressed herself quickly, the bodysuit soon finding itself by Sam's as the younger woman looked at her, her blue eyes tracing over Jane's body.

"Like what you see?" The Non-Com asked, her tone husky and arrogant as she let Collins gaze upon her, knowing that she struck an attractive figure that had most men giving her second-glances or gazes of longing, and even some women who weren't into the same gender looked upon her with envy. Jane traced a hand down her skin, her fingers drawing a path that started at her collarbone and worked its way downward. Sam's eyes immediately followed her hand as she slid her fingers along the flesh of her chest, to the groove in between her full breasts, her fingers teasing the top hem of her own Systems Alliance-issued sports bra by making the fabric pull down slightly to expose a bit more of her generous cleavage, the sports bra pushing her C-cup breasts up and together. Her fingers continued to trace downward, sliding to her own abdomen where a line bisected her own abdominal muscles from the daily crunches she did, her abs tight knots well-defined by the taunt skin that covered them. Her fingers brushed by the dip on her navel as Sam's eyes continued to follow Jane's tracing, affixed to the act.

"Yes." Sam replied, her voice almost strangled as her blue eyes went back to Jane's face, the younger woman lying on her back on the bed, completely vulnerable and at her mercy. Jane smiled as she crawled into the bunk, stalking above Sam's form as Collins subtly shifted on the bed towards a more comfortable position where they would have more room on the narrow bunk, her breath coming in fast as Jane moved on her hands and knees until she was positioned directly over the younger woman, ready for the kill, so to speak. Her face was flushed, her body obviously nervous by the way she was holding herself lying there, but Jane had long since past the point of gentle considerations. She wanted this mostly-naked woman that laid before her, with her smooth creamy skin and lithe, athletic features. Primal urges and predatory instincts guided Jane as she lowered herself onto Sam, connecting flesh with flesh as she fell into the cradle of the younger woman's body. Sam's thighs slid up around Jane's waist as the redhead guided them to a better position, causing the younger woman's hips to tilt upward and to access what laid between them as the Non-Com pressed her own wet, throbbing mound into Sam's, grinding into it slowly. Sam immediately shivered as a gasp escaped her soft lips, her blue eyes going upward as her lids closed, her head tilting backwards fiercely into the pillow she laid on as her chest pushed forward, her breasts pressing into Jane's. The redhead felt an explosion of warmth radiating into her crotch, coming from without as oppose to within, and found her own panties growing soaked with warmth and wetness.

"Oh… God…" Sam panted a moment later, shivering slightly as she opened her eyes and looked at Shepard, taking heaving breaths as her body relaxed back into a more flaccid position upon the bunk. "Was… was that…?"

"That was just a taste." Jane replied seductively, the throbbing ache within her growing with the sight of the young woman experiencing her first orgasm. The redhead smiled as she traced a lazy finger down Sam's body, brushing her fingertip in between the hills of her breasts and down the hard planes of her athletic abdomen before slipping into the hem of her panties. Her hand buried itself in the undergarment as her fingers found a patch of soft hair before reaching the mound of her vagina, cupping it with her hand. Collins quaked beneath her as the younger woman looked up at her, her eyes bright and twitching, yet always looking at her. "Now this? This will make you _mine_."

"Then have me, Jane Shepard. I want to be yours." The Marshal said breathlessly, her breath catching in her throat as Jane smiled at her, letting her fingers brush along the folds of her labia, the tip of her middle finger finding the natural crevice that split her crotch down the middle. Shepard smiled as she let her middle finger slide into the soft folds, brushing her finger upwards towards the sensitive nub that she knew would be there, the folds slick and lubricated already from the younger woman's earlier orgasm. Sam's breath caught in her throat as Jane found her clitoris, the nub engorged and slippery with vaginal fluids as Jane began to rub it with her fingerpad, tracing the outside of it with slow sweeping circles. The younger woman whimpered in wantonness lust, her eyes pleading as the redhead smiled as she let her finger trail downward and inward, finding the slick slope that led towards her vagina, her lips deforming around her exploring finger as Shepard found the tight opening that would lead towards what she wanted to have and what Sam was willing to give. Jane slid her ring finger next to her middle finger, slowly pressing against the resisting closure, making Collins pant hard and fast, her blue eyes wide and dancing.

"I'm not going to be gentle with you." Jane warned her as her fingertips were buried in the parting lips, forcing them open.

"I know." Sam replied, her voice weak, compliant.

"I'm going to fuck you. _Hard._ "

"I know." The voice was barely more than a whisper.

"I'm not going to hold back."

"I don't want you to." Sam replied, her eyes finally resting on her own, looking at her with intensity. That answer wasn't weak.

"Good." Shepard replied with a smile as she leaned forward, her lips pressing into Sam's as she kissed the younger woman passionately.

And then she thrusted her hand forward.

* * *

Author's Note: For prior service members and veterans who have dealt with the loss of platoon mates, I will be going into PTSD in the next section. For those who still struggle with it (and there are many, myself included), I am doing this _gently_. Those who have never experienced the harsh realities of war don't really need to know that pain, and those who have don't really need the reminder.

* * *

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 23 2175**

Private Blake Bell woke up to find a warm body lying upon his own, the sight of a young blonde woman half-draped over his body. He saw that one bared leg was flung over his own legs, and an arm was wrapped around his waist, while a head and a cascade of blonde hair took residence on the hollow of his shoulder. He moved his head enough to look up the woman who had spent the night with him, who had tore at his clothing and her own, his eager hands helping as they succumbed to their own lustful needs and brushes with mortality. The sex had been wild and hard, both of them eager in both participation and gratification. He looked upon the sight of Seaman Apprentice Katarina Solodenke, still slumbering peacefully with a slight smile upon her face. He supposed that was a good sign as any, both in performance and in content.

He had gotten laid twice in two days now; God he loved being a Marine.

Katarina gave off a small moan as her brown eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to awaken enough to recognize where she was and whom she was with as her full lips curved upward into a smile as she closed her eyes and gave off a moan of satisfaction as her hand slid from his side and went to his chest, feeling his athletic chest up in a groping motion as her eyes opened again to look at him.

" _Dobroye utro."_ The young woman spoke softly in Russian, confusing the hell out of Blake for a moment, as he didn't have his communicator in, and he certainly didn't understand Russian. He took it to mean 'good morning', and he had to admit that Katarina could make Russian sound sexy as hell with that sultry voice of hers. He certainly didn't pass upon the opportunity to gaze upon her nude body and count his lucky stars. Vanessa the colonist had been his first, and she had been a heaven-sent angel that had known what she was doing, both angel and woman that had pretty much fulfilled every childhood fantasy that he had ever had whenever ever thought about being with a girl. Katarina was… different. Where as Vanessa had been willing and eager to give herself to him, showing him the things to do to please both a woman and himself, Katarina had been an animal, insatiable and wild. Where Vanessa had been a gentle and beneficial partner, the Sailor had been an eager thing that hadn't been afraid to let him be introduced to new and fantastical positions and ideas. Blake knew that Vanessa, as sweet and heavenly as she was, was a one-time deal, giving him a kiss before she left and telling him that she wouldn't forget her time with him. Bell had been a little hurt by that, but hadn't seen it as a rejection; as far as first-times went, he probably couldn't have had better. Katarina, the way she was looking at him now, like a lion looking at a deer? Yeah, he was pretty certain that he wasn't going to be seeing her walk out the door figuratively anytime soon.

None of his friends back home (and still in Secondary Gymnasium) would ever believe this shit. Screw 'em, he was a man now; tried, tested, and true, a proven Light Jump Marine that killed aliens and ravished willing and eager women afterwards.

"You're still smiling." Solo accused him, her full lips blooming into her own smile, as if this was a game and she had earned herself a point. Shit-talking pillow talk? Blake found that he rather liked the thought of this game.

"You're still glowing, too, darling." Bell replied, hoping he wasn't shoving his foot in his mouth or anything. Katarina's smile grew a little brighter as she _'hmm'ed'_ at the point, obviously conceding it. Then, out of nowhere a sharp knife of grief went into his heart, twisting hard as it almost felt like he was going to up and die right then and there. The pain so was so real and fresh, he thought he was about to have a heart attack, or in the middle of one as he gasp out, sweat popping out of his pores as his heart rate doubled in mere seconds. Blake shut his eyes hard as he felt tears squeezing out of them, trailing down his sockets and cheeks as a sob escaped his lips. _Oh God, they really are all dead…_ Private First Class Gonzalez, Lance Corporal Vargas, Corporal Mananas, even the utterly-badass Sergeant Lesser, the members of his squad. His whole platoon had been killed, lasting mere minutes against an airship, ten Special Intervention Unit Operatives, and something that Chief Shepard called a Pillars-Priest, a biokinetically-capable Batarian that had practically slaughtered the survivors of the strafing fire of the Courser Hunter/Killer deployment shuttle. Those who hadn't been killed had been so wounded that they had needed immediate proper medical attention… which hadn't been available at all. One of the Harley-Davidson Motor Company, Inc. Iron 883 Contragravity Speedbikes had been destroyed by the Courser, and with one working vehicle meant for two people, it wouldn't have been possible to Medevac the wounded back to the triage point at the Marshal's Office, especially with the strong possibility that No'burg was being occupied by Batarian forces. Chief Shepard, being the highest-ranking military member left, had come to the decision to use the first-aid kits that everyone carried on their armor to overdose the wounded with morphine, to at least let them die free of pain if they were going to die anyhow, nothing else to be done. Marshal Collins, Chief Shepard, and himself had done the deed to the six wounded Marines that were ripped open by either mini gun fire or smashed so hard by the Pillars-Priest that their bodies were too broken to even justify moving them. It had been mercy, but it had been a bitter, bitter experience.

"I'm the only one left." Bell whimpered, his grief distorting his words as he wept, his heart being crushed by an invisible vice as the pain flared even higher, squeezing so tightly at him as he felt gentle arms embrace him, his face being pressed into warm skin as he cried. "We did everything right, but we got torn to pieces and now they're all dead but me."

"They would be happy you made it." Katarina replied softly, and Bell felt her stroking his hair back, comforting him in his time of need. "They would want you to make it, to see this through. They did not die in vain, Blake; they died on their feet and fighting for us all." Blake could only trust himself to nod, nestling into Katarina as he held her tightly, completely uncaring that he was pressing into his face into her breasts, the grief was so strong. "Frazier was a friend, and he saved my life. I will do right by him by continuing on, by making it count. I will cherish him and honor his actions by making them _pay_."

"I'm glad you made it." The Private replied weakly, trying to reign in on his grief, the pain subsiding slowly as he laid his head against the Russian woman's chest, the warmth and affection she was giving a comfort, blanketing him for the harsh grips of fear and pain. "I'm glad I made it."

"I am too, Blake." The Seaman Apprentice agreed, still stroking his head softly, like a mother comforting a child. "I… I would like it if you… you would stay with me, Blake."

"Like boyfriend/girlfriend?" The Private asked, pulling his head up slightly so he could look at her, her brown eyes looking right at his.

"Like boyfriend/girlfriend." Katarina confirmed, a smile slowly widening her lips.

"I would like that, too." Blake smiled at her as he pulled himself up a little bit to give her a kiss, a real one. It wasn't lust or horniness that fueled him now, but the seeds of something different, something… better. This woman that laid next to him, whose skin pressed into his own, she was real, she was what mattered. In her there was something he could hold onto, something that mattered, something to drive him forward. She was right; his friends back in A Co. would have wanted him to continue on, not to become some useless sobbing wreck. He was a Marine, and there were people who were in danger. Regardless of why he joined the Marine Corps, or even his age, people would look to him and _expect_ him to act accordingly. And he wasn't going to disappoint. "Probably should get showered and dressed. We smell like the barracks on a Saturday morning; booze and broads, as Lancie Vargas would say."

"Oh, and you know this well?" The Russian woman asked, an eyebrow rising up in amusement. Yep, Blake was pretty sure he just ate a foot.

"Nope. You… are only the second woman I've ever been with." Bell admitted sheepishly, cringing a little. This wasn't a discussion he was looking forward to have. "I'm… kinda… sixteen years old. Lied about my age."

"Join the club. I did, too." Katarina frowned for a moment, but it slipped away. Obviously there was a reason she joined so early, and it probably wasn't so noble a reason as his own, wishing to help take care of his mother, who suffered Multiple Sclerosis. Whenever she was ready to talk about it to him, he would listen. "Though I am seventeen now."

There was a harsh pounding on the closed metal roll-up privacy door to the bunk. Blake frowned at the pounding as he double-checked to make sure that both he and Katarina were covered up before opening the door. He saw Chief Shepard standing there, dressed in her ballistic body suit, hands planted on her hips and looking furious as hell.

" _SEVENTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD, SOLO!"_ The Petty Officer exclaimed loudly, her voice a force of nature itself, showing that Navy Non-Coms could equal a Marine Sergeant in intimidation and authority, contrary to Corps rumor about spineless Chiefs. Her emerald eyes went to him. _"FUCKING_ SIXTEEN? _"_ Obviously, the privacy door was only limited to sight, not sound.

A choir of _'aye aye, Chief'_ and _'sir, yessir'_ came from both of them at the same time, appropriately admonished in tone. Shepard merely made a disgusted noise as she turned and walked away, obviously exasperated, muttering something about ' _kids in war_ ' and ' _child soldiers_ '. Blake knew in the back of his mind that his age would probably be discovered sooner or later, but always assumed it would be Lancie Vargas or Corporal Mananas who would connect the dots. The both of them knew that his mother had MS, and that he had joined so she could reap the medical benefits that family members got from being related to service members of the SA Military. They would have been pissed as hell, but they would have at least known why he had done it. Not that it would have made that much of a difference, but at least it wasn't so they thought he was some hothead.

"Get dressed, you two. We'll discuss this sometime _after_ we're done killing the Blinks off this planet." The Chief ordered, the promise looming large as the both of them gulped audibly at the thought of future retribution. Blake was about to comply when he noticed that Marshal Collins was dressed as well, sitting on a bunk with messy covers and blankets, and he noted that… well, none of the others looked slept in.

"Why is only one bunk looked slept in?" Blake thoughtlessly asked, and the Petty Officer immediately stiffened up, her cheeks going a deep beet red as Marse Collins looked away, looking guilty as hell. He didn't think of it before, but now? "Um… oh." That… had him laughing, not because of the military's stance on same-gendered relationships (he could have cared less) or the fact that he discovered it, but because the looks on Chief Shepard's and Marshal Collins' faces. He shared a look with Katarina, whose own eyes were wide open, her mouth gaped open in surprise.

" _Not… one… fucking… word."_ The Petty Officer First Class leveled out as the blush faded from her cheeks, her face set in stone. Yep, this Chief could certainly match a Marine Sergeant in authority, that was for sure.

" _Quid pro quo?"_ Solo interjected, her tone hopeful. That… was ballsy. The Chief just looked meaner as hell, her face growing ugly at the obvious extortion. Underaged service members was probably just as heavy a black mark as being in an 'alternative lifestyle' relationship in the military.

"Got us there, Jane." Marse Collins replied, the Marshal nowhere near as mad, though then again she wasn't likely to get in trouble with the Alliance Frontier Marshal Services as the three of them would with their infractions. "We do have more important matters to attend to."

"Urgh!" The Non-Com snorted, turning away and dropping the matter with a flippant wave of her hand. "Get showered, get dressed, and get ready. We leave in twenty mikes to hoof it back to the Marshal's Office. And…" Chief Shepard stopped for a moment and turned back to the both of them, her face a little softer. "If you need to talk about what happened yesterday, the things you've seen… know that I was sixteen when New Eddie was reaved by the Batarians. I… know about being a survivor of something terrible." The redhead closed her eyes tightly for a moment, taking in a slow, heavy breath. "At the least, you two chose this path, as oppose to having it forced upon you, able to defend yourself and fight back. You didn't have to crawl into a sewage pipe and listen to the screams of the tortured and fettered as they were played with and raped by the Batarians and their ilk." That had Blake sickened to his stomach. That was decidedly worse than what he went through. He would take the Chief's offer up if needed.

Until then, there was a colony to fight for. Retreat? Hell, they were still here, still alive, and still able to fight.

* * *

Author's Note: With the exception of the Asari, Biotics are a super rarity, being that of less than a percent of a percent or even more rare dependent on species. I think I remember reading on one FF story that, based on canon math, Humanity might have something like less than 100,000 in 2183 (and I believe it was actually 40,000). Considering that, to have one, one must be exposed to Eezo dust (not simply radiation) while pregnant and _survive_ the ordeal, and even then your child is a small percentage of lucky individuals that is a Biotic and not riddled with cancer or coming out… off. There were only four notable Eezo exposures for humanity (Singapore was one, a colony for another, and then one in 2153-54 for a Biotic Shepard) in which the numbers in Singapore are actually known; 100,000-200,000 were exposed to a shuttle explosion in the slums of Singapore, resulting in possibly less than a 1,500-3,000 potential _candidates_ (perhaps 50-70 would be Biotic if canon math were correct.) And, BAaT School was small enough to be held at Gagarin Station, and the classes, filled with the oldest biotics of the time, probably had a roster of perhaps 30-40 with Kaiden and his whiny girlfriend. I actually did the math on this. (100,000 divided by gender (50%), divided by sexual maturity (50% of life expectancy, so 30 years), divided by average amount of children born per woman (generally 2, so 2 out of 30 is 6.67%), divided by embryo to fetus radio (66%), divided by biotic potential over poor little baby that lost the lottery and ended up riddled with cancer (5%) and you get 55… out of 100,000 (which is a 0.055% possibility of you being born Biotic in Singapore _that year_.)

Batarian Biotic Powers - Thunderclap: two charged nodules of biokinetic energy brought together violently to result in a biokinetic explosion, directed forward. Like a claymore mine, face towards enemy.

Kinetic impact- Technically, a Mass Effect gun fires a *grain* of metal at a percentage of the speed of light. Force equals weight times velocity. The Speed of Light, 'c', is about 299,792,458 meters per second x 1% = 299,792. The Smith and Wesson Model 696 fires a 12.5 gram slug. These are all metric measurements. At a percent of a percent of the speed of light, the Model 696 hits at 3,747 Joules of force. I believe that's just north of the .308 Win round, which is just around 3,200 Joules of Kinetic Energy.

The Five 'Gels - OmniGel, kiddies, was some cute thing that Mass Effect used as a catch-all product that eliminated the need for carrying an inordinate amount of supplies. You could break down some weapon to use it to unlock a door in the first game, for God's sakes! What happen to the Eezo and superconductive magnetic rails, or at least to mention the working components? So I created the Five 'Gels, the five most likely needed _ad hoc_ 'Gels one would need on a common, everyday purpose; MediGel, PlastiGel, CeramiGel, MetalGel, and WonderGel. These are used for repairs, to create small items, to coat things, or even to fix flaws. As this is a physical object, there is only a limited amount, in which is stored in the users' armor, generally around kilograms' worth. Components can be broken down into the separate 'Gels, but like in Fallout 4, certain components are needed in said object and you won't get it all, just a high percentage of. MediGel isn't a cure-all, instead an adhesive bonding gel with antiseptic, blood coagulant, antibiotics, blood volumizer, and localized pain killer. It isn't a miracle drug, otherwise Lawson would have just tossed Shepard into a vat of the stuff and let it do its magic, and Doctor Chakwas would have just been a Dispensary.

WonderGel - Wonderglue or Gorilla Glue, essentially. The 'quick-fix' if one does not wish to use the more useful PlastiGel, CeramiGel or MetalGel, or when simply tacking two objects together.

PlastiGel - For making plastic-related objects, either soft (like sandbags) or hard (like plasticrete or polyurethane). Useful for lightweight objects.

CeramiGel - For making ceramic-related objects. Useful for repairing armor, creating round-resistant barriers (alumniglas), or heat-dispersing objects (like heatsinks if MetalGel is out).

MetalGel - For using metal-required activities… specifically welding. This I am taking from the movie _Aliens_ , in which the Colonial Marines of that movie had a device used to weld/torch metal. It can also be used to make metal objects, like replacement heatsinks, extra ammo blocks, or weapons components. NiFe and alumnisteel are its most common aspects, as well as cellulosic mild steel (or E6010 arc welding electrode for you welders out there). Yes, I weld. E6010, gentle readers, is a common stick used for Stick Metal Arc Welding (SMAW) that is a general purpose, all positions electrode for fabrication, welding, and tacking. The first two numbers (70) indicate the Pounds per Square Inch (psi) in which is welded together in the thousands range (in other words, 70,000 psi weld), while the third number (1) is what positions it is good for, '1' being all-position, and the last number (8) being the material (in this case, low-hydrogen/iron powder). E6010 is splatter-heavy and smokey as fuck, which is why I generally prefer the low-hydrogen E7018.

I know, I know; Mass Effect tried to make the 'love' scenes romantic and such, right? How many of us at 19 or 21 were particularly romantic? Throw in that one of them is in the military, there's a battle going on, and a ton of stress, and… yeah.


	27. Libera Nos A Malo, VII

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 23 2175**

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins consulted the topographical map displayed discretely on her Apple Corps iTool as she led her procession of four through the warrens and mazes of the Bloodsalt District of Nova Yekaterinburg. The Marshal was leading Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard, Seaman Apprentice Katarina Solodenke, and Marine Private Blake Bell through some of the worst of the favelas of the Bloodsalt in the hopes that they could make it back to the Market Square where the Marshal's Office would be nearby. She intentionally picked the worst path possible in the hopes that it would lessen the chances of Batarian chokepoints, ambushes, and hopefully run-ins. With four people as a squad in a war zone, the likelihood of survival was minimal at best, unable to break contact or flank and enemy properly in case they found something. If they came across a group of Batarians, they would simply have to suppress them and cover each other in a bounding tactical retreat. The addition of Bell ended up being a boon; the Marine was rated 0300-series Marine Infantry, with training in both Light Jump School as well as Basic Battlefield Tactics. His medium armor carried a good deal more MetalGel, PlastiGel, and CeramiGel than what the Navy-oriented Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor did, and his Aldrin Labs' Bluewire OmniTool was geared towards war; he could macrofacture ammo blocks, concussive rounds, a variety of grenades and explosives, and even repair small to minor breeches in armor. Neither Chief Shepard or Seaman Solodenke had the capabilities, being Military Police Officers who were geared more to subduing Sailors and Marines than fighting wars, able to make gas grenades, stun grenades, flexicuffs, and a variety of debilitating incapacitate sprays, like Capsaicin Spray. While mostly non-lethals, they would still be effective in incapacitating soldiers, weakening enemy positions, creating confusion, and denial of cover and avenues. It would have to do.

"The main access point from the Bloodsalt to the Markets is up ahead to the right." Sam informed her small squad, currently taking position behind a Conex for cover and concealment. The access point, a Conex that had both ends taken off and set in between other Conex's as well as topped by others, creating a natural choke point. The Batarians would be stupid not to control such an obvious route, and yet there was no other route through the Bloodsalt unless they wanted to go through Whitechapel, then the Maul, and then into the Markets from the eastern side. Of course, the Batarians would be dumb not to block off those points, too.

If they wanted to make it back to the Marshal's Office, they were undoubtedly going to have to fight their way through at least one choke point, and possibly several.

"Bell? Start making smoke grenades to distribute." The Marshal ordered the Marine, who nodded in compliance as he went to work on his Aldrin Labs' Bluewire OmniTool, going through his selection of war apps to find the macrofacturing ability to make grenades, evidently having several options to include fragmentary, smoke, signal, incendiary, and electromagnetic burst. He also had a suite of mines as well. Just knowing what one Marine Rifleman was capable of, Sam was wishing she had more of him. "Two each, plus four more for our retreat."

"Got it, Marse." The Marine nodded as his OmniTool ejected a puck-like object from its dispenser, laying it on the ground in front of him. "Give it a couple of minutes for me to make them."

"Chief? Solo? Make a gas grenade each, CS Tear." Collins told the Sailors as she readied her own iTool by looking through the non-lethal section, a little dejected at the thought she hadn't thought of sharing licenses between the Naval Security Team and herself, authorizing them the use of her 'flash' program while gaining their 'Capsaicin Spray' to incapacitate foes with a cellulose-wrapped sphere containing oleoresin capsicum suspended in propylene glycol to create a cloud of irritants that cause painful inflammation of the skin, irritation of the throat, eyes, and lungs, generally causing the subject to cough, gag, and otherwise become ineffective. "And then ready a shot of OC." Collins had already pre-charged her 'flash' program for immediate use, knowing that she had to be within at least fifty meters for it to be mildly effective, and closer to truly blind an opponent. "I'll start off with a flash, and then we'll toss smoke grenades towards the access point to conceal our approach." The three nodded in unison as they worked their OmniTools. "Chief Shepard and Solo will fire OC Shots at any targets of opportunity before we reach the tunnel, and drop gas grenades on the defensive positions right before we pass by them. The last smoke grenades will be fore when we leave the access point to deny knowledge of our path of travel. Pace will be set at… was it called 'double-time'?" She looked to Chief Shepard, Jane merely nodding.

"I suggest quadruple time. Might as well sprint it if we're going to come under fire." Bell pointed out as he made his fourth grenade. "Makes me wish we had brought some of the MP Riot Shields you guys use in MilPrisons. Those can soak some bullets."

"Actually…" Collins looked through her iTool, and found a program that was indeed called 'shield'. "I have one, but it's going to use all my PlastiGel, CeramiGel, and MetalGel. It gets fractured or shattered, I won't be able to make another unless I stumble upon four hundred grams of those 'Gels each. I won't have enough to make basic repairs to my armor or weapons if things get hairy."

"WonderGel works in a God-awful pinch if necessary." The redhead replied, attaching her gas grenade magnetically to her Onyx Armor. "We can help you out if it comes to that, but Bell's got a point; a shield would be handy if you're driving through and they start firing. Is it a Riot Shield or Ballistic?"

"Ballistic, IARD by Spartan Industries." Collins confirmed, already macrofabricating the object with her iTool, seeing the process bar increasing slowly as the mixture of plastics, ceramics, and metals were fabricated and congealed through the Apple Corps' 3D printing capabilities. It would take about three minutes for the Ballistic Shield to be complete, and she looked up to see that the Marine was finishing his sixth grenade. As she held out her left arm as the shield was being fabricated, growing larger with each passing second, Sam detached her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle, handing it over to Katarina. "Take it, I won't be able to use a two-handed weapon well with a shield. It fires a 6.8 gram slug in a three-round burst, so it will be a little more powerful than the Lancer," she indicated to Private Bell's Hadne-Keder M7 Lancer, "but without the full auto capabilities for full suppression. It has good power, good balance, and light recoil, but compensate slightly for the burst so you're not firing above them for the second and third shot. Not as heavy a round as the Gladius, but a three-round burst should snap shields and hit their armor. The next burst will have him spitting out armor and bullets."

"Got it." Solo took the weapon after locking her Gladius against her chest, shouldering it at the ready and checking the holographic sights. Nodding in approval, Collins then handed her three NiFe ammo blocks to her, incompatible for either her Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver on her left thigh, or her Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistol, maglocked under her left armpit. She hadn't really used it since Revan, though she had brought it every time she had gone out for any kind of enforcement procedure, usually stuck under her left arm, or even under her sports blazer in a Kylex holster electrostatically adhered to her normal Marshal's uniform. Still, it would be useful for close-quarters engagements and suppressive fire, especially if she were waiting for her 696 to cool down. It was a cops' weapon, and she was going to carry it if only for that reason alone. It gave her seventy-five shots per block, and she had four spare 375-gram pistol ammo blocks for it. The Smith and Wesson could fire a total of thirty times with a pistol ammo block. More shots, or more powerful shots? She moved one pistol ammo block to the right side of her ribs for the Glock, and kept the rest for the Smith and Wesson. Who was to say how effective the Glock would be against a Batarian soldier, or even an SIU Agent. She at least knew she could kill a Special Forces Warrior with a shot, or two at most. With the Glock, it could take the whole block as far as she knew.

"Grenades up." Bell announced, beginning to distribute them as each of them took two. The Marine himself was festooned with grenades and ammo blocks. "What's the order of march, Marse?"

"Myself with the shield up front, obstacle clearance," Sam began, describing who went where and their role, "Chief Shepard will be flankers and suppression. Bell, you're third with high ground and calling out targets, while Solo is rear guard and covering retreat." What she described wasn't so different from house-clearing procedures taught to her in Marshal's Academy or even at UShaxni (NewBei) when she was taking Criminal Justice. The progress bar on her OmniTool was at 67% percent now, the shield almost complete. "When we get through the access point, we'll turn down one of the alleys with the smoke to cover our retreat, make our way through the Market District back to the Marshal's Office. I expect there to be resistance in the Square itself, as that is were the SA Compound, the Eldfell-Ashland Compound, and our folks are at. They're the heaviest defenses, but also the biggest targets. We could be walking into a serious firefight or shootout."

"Well, we got tricks, grenades, and a ballistic shield. I'd say that we have a fair chance of success on that part." Chief Shepard replied, Jane giving her a small smile. The smile reminded Sam of the ache in her loins from the previous night, where the redhead had shared much more than just a bunk last night. It had been a learning experience for her, one that she found to be quite pleasurable and completely satisfying. "We'll take it one thing at a time, and we'll do fine." The Russian Sailor and the Marine beside her nodded in agreement with the pep talk. "We should go." Collins noted that her shield was now fully formed, cured, and ready.

"Right." The Marshal pulled out her Smith and Wesson with her right hand, half-cocking the hammer back. "Stack on me."

* * *

 **THV** _ **Unbridled Justice**_ **, Between Jumps, Hades Gamma Nebula-Artemis Tau Cluster, May 23 2175**

Centurion Magnus Nihlus Kryik stood behind the Helm of the _Unbridled Justice_ , being piloted by Kya Drang, who was not only a licensed pilot of a Corvette-Class vessel (she had to get around for the Kahje Illuminated Primacy when she was a legal assassin, after all), but also a shuttlecraft pilot, too. The _Unbridled Justice_ had a crew of support members who worked for the Office of Special Tactics, parceled out for missions and duties when required, and the ship itself came with a Commanding Officer that would take command of the vessel during times of need. Since Nihlus wasn't a Hierarchy-rated Naval Commander, the addition of the _Praetorium_ was a good one in case Naval action was needed.

"Exiting Jump Space in five minutes." Drang called out, her rough voice echoing through the ships' intercom system. "Be advise, we expect company."

"All hands to battle stations." _Praetorium_ Janus Vextoris called out, indicating ship status to the small crew of the Corvette. "As soon as we reach Knossos Space, full power to all offensive and defensive capabilities." Vextoris looked to Kryik, who was pondering what to do once they reached Knossos Space. Most likely, there would be a blockade of some kind, perhaps a magnetic mine field, or a few heavier ships to destroy whatever came through. Regardless, trying to fight it out in a Corvette was an unlikely winning scenario.

"We'll need to break through whatever might be waiting for us and get to Therum as soon as possible." Nihlus told the ship's Commanding Officer, the Turian simply nodding his head. "No doubt whatever is waiting for us will have us outnumbered and outgunned. Options?"

"I have one."

Nihlus turned to look at Jondum Bau and Tela Vasir, the Asari Maiden's smile _too_ wide to mean anything good. Spirits, Nihlus knew he was going to regret whoever those two had in mind. Bau had spoken, and that had always proved… interesting.

"How long to engage engines and plot an FTL Jump?" The Salarian asked, completely deadpanned.

" _Inside a system?"_ _Praetorium_ Vextoris asked, his flanged voice going up in octave and volume. "Have you gone Spirit-blind?"

"One minute after departure of Jump Space." Kya replied from the pilot's seat, her fingers hovering over the navigational suite. "What do you have in mind, brother?"

"Arrive, charge engines, Jump FTL in-system," the STG Operative looked to the Ships' Captain, whose mandibles flared out in shock, " _here_." He pointed out a position that wasn't in space.

"Oh, Spirits of Palaven…" Janus moaned, his plates drooping. "You cannot be serious! That's inside the Kaman Line!"

"Very possible. Done it before, STG mission in Korlus." The sniper replied, his thin, lipless mouth creased upward into a smile. "The aftereffect is… rather extraordinary."

"It will bypass everything in-system, and confuse the Blinks." Tela added, nodding. "Plus, we know that they'll have something in atmo, and a spaceship isn't a fighter; we weren't built for maneuverability in air. This will disrupt whatever vessels they already have in Therum for sure."

"One minute after departure?" Nihlus looks to Drang, the Drell assassin nodding in response. "And you think you can make that Jump?"

"As long as the math is correct, I can do it." Kya replied, a rare smile coming to her green face. "Sounds fun."

"Peace!" Vextoris swore out loud, shaking his fringed head. "I'm as brave as any Turian, but what you ask is blighted madness!"

"Hence, 'Special Tactics'." Vasir inputted dryly, getting Drang to chuckle. "Everyone else will have to fight their way through. We'll just bypass them."

"Do it." Nihlus confirmed, nodding his own head. "Plot the Jump and get ready to FTL as soon as possible. We have no idea what's waiting for us on the other side of that Relay, so best bet is to get out of their as soon as expediently possible."

"ETA will be two hours from Jump." Drang informed them, her fingers working the navigational suite. " _Really_ hope your math is correct, Bau."

"My math is _always_ correct, sister."

* * *

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 23 2175**

"Go in three. One… two… _three!_ "

Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard was around the corner and hot on the heels of Marshal Sam Collins as she held onto the younger woman's left shoulder, her Nexus' Gladius Battle Rifle resting on the top of her left hand as Sam led the charge forward, holding up her ballistic shield with her left arm as she held out her Smith and Wesson in front of her. Chief Shepard, Private Blake Bell, and Seaman Apprentice Katarina Solodenke all threw smoke grenades as far as they could towards the Conex that was the access point between the Bloodsalt District and the Market District, the three grenades sailing forward dozens of meters as heavy clouds of white smoke began to fill the air in front of them. Already the three of them were grabbing their second smoke grenades and throwing them again, the disk-like devices flung out like a dark, the circular shape giving some aerodynamic ability as the grenades sailed forward to cover more ground. They were but fifty meters from the access point, and all they needs was for the Batarians that held it _not_ to know their exact location.

They were soon running into the fog of white smoke.

Collins ran with the retaining wall that separated the Bloodsalt from the Market almost right at her right shoulder, not wanting to guess in the smoke as the Marshal kept moving forward, her shield held up and ready as Shepard followed, her Gladius looking for targets as she grabbed a CS Tear gas grenade with her left hand, ready to drop it. There were shouts of alarms and shots of gunfire being sprayed haphazardly somewhere to their left and behind them as the four-man squad continued to bound forward as quickly as possible without actually sprinting, not wanting to miss their exit.

Collins gave a short cough as she turned right; the signal that they had reached the access point as Shepard tossed the gas grenade up, letting the magnetic bottom let the puck-like object adhere to the metal container's side.

The tunnel was a mere length of a Conex, dark but for the end as they continued to rush forward, where Jane spotted a lone Batarian standing at the other side, facing in the wrong direction. She grabbed another gas grenade and got it ready as Sam's mammoth-killer roared loud once inside the metal confines of the Conex tunnel, the Batarian's head pulped by the 12.5 gram slug as he fell bonelessly to the ground. They were already bursting through into daylight as Jane dropped the gas grenade at the same time Bell dropped one of his smoke grenades while Solo threw one of hers ahead of them. The redhead grabbed one of the spares off of Collins' back and tossed that smoke grenade forward, too, seeing the favela of the Market looming before them as Bell tossed his last grenade behind him and Katarina tossed hers even further forward. They passed by two alleys in the growing concealing cloud of white smoke as Sam coughed once more and turned right again, into a narrow alley that was immediately a turn to the left due to the haphazard way the Conex's were stacked and placed. All four of them made the short turn and stacked against the wall of another Conex, Solo and Bell both facing rearguard as Collins took the corner, using the metal wall to cover and conceal herself as she poked her head out for a moment to look down the narrow corridor. No one said a word for a good two to three minutes as Shepard kept an eye upward, seeing if anyone were walking on top of the Conex's looking downward. Collins had picked it because it offered the most cover from any potential aircraft like the Coursers, but without any real heavy weapons, they were defenseless against airstrikes.

" _I hear reinforcements."_ Collins called out through her helmet's vox quietly, informing them what was going on in the main boulevard while they hid behind in a recess. _"Heading towards the access point. Either to investigate or to plus-up."_

"Might want to get a move on before the Bats get smart." Shepard offered just as quietly, queuing up her OmniTool. She had received a download of the colony's topographical layout from the Marshal, due to the fact that her OmniTool was pretty much being used to hold her ballistic shield. "What's the name of this part again?"

" _District 12."_

"Really." Jane shook her head as Bell snorted, her tone completely deadpanned. "Why not just call it 'Everdeen' or something else equally stupid?"

" _Har har."_ Sam replied, her helmet turning to Jane for a moment, her blue eyes looking at her through her visor. Jane put her left hand on the Marshal's shoulder for a moment as she touched the head plate to Collins' own, the only affection they could give while in armor. _"I'll take lead. Jane, you're our pathfinder through this maze of shit."_

"…And may the odds be ever in our favor." Shepard couldn't help herself.

" _Guh! Can you stop with the stupid 'Hunger Games' references?"_

"Why not? We're practically running in the middle of the third movie. Might as well call it 'The Capitol'." Jane couldn't help herself, teasing her… lover? Girlfriend? She hadn't really thought it through with all that was going on. "We burn…"

" _Jaaaaane…"_

"…You burn with us."

" _And I thought Marines were suppose to hold the standard for retardation."_ Blake snarked, looking to Katarina. _"Not too late to jump services if that's what you're looking forward to."_

* * *

Marine Captain Marc Michael Meer stood in the middle of Operations in the Marshal's Office of No'burg, directing the war effort for the battle as intelligence and reports were coming in fast and furious. Despite the stress and hardships that the duty entailed, Marc knew that this was his moment; he was _born_ for this, went to Military Academy for this, wanted this like no other. Not the endangering of lives, not the threat to the humans that lived on Therum (even if some of them were vile scumbags that probably deserved a good beating). No, Meer joined the Systems Alliance Marine Corps to be a _man_ , and he wanted to be a man among _men_ ; a Commissioned Officer that led charges against the enemy, to lead the proud and the brave to victory. There was no better day than today, there was no better moment than this.

He would save this wretched fucking colony and blast the Batarians into smithereens to teach them what it meant to mess with the Mean Green Machine.

"Sir!" A Navy screen watcher popped up, a young man manning a terminal in the Marshal's Office that had been converted into a signal intercept analyzer. "We've intercepted what sounds to be a Batarian TIC Call!" Meer looked over to the Sailor in question, intrigued. TIC was an acronym that meant 'Troops In Contact'; that they were being engaged by the enemy, namely humans. Any TIC the enemy gave meant more of their people were alive, on the offensive, or giving the Bats a hard time. With the _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette Deployment Vessel still hovering over No'burg, the Batarians had air superiority. With the addition of eight Courser Hunter/Killer VTOL's (two had been taken down through overwhelming fire), the Batarians were making mincemeat out of No'burg's defenses. The ragtag militias that the Corvette had dropped had numbered somewhere around two hundred and fifty, and then the H/K's had went and dropped about a hundred SIU Agents near the defensive positions of the Marines. Most of the SIU got themselves killed, but not before severely compromising the platoons with losses, losing almost half their men in the first hour. The ones that did well… got Pillars-Priests.

According to reports, one had been killed in the Bloodsalt District along with ten SIU Operatives, though the men of Andromeda Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment had been wiped out… but there was at least one Marine DUSTWUN, and two Iron 883's and a male Sailor that was found with the bodies. That left two female Sailors and one female Marshal unaccounted for.

Meer hoped that Sam Collins hadn't been captured.

"Describe it to me." Meer replied to the screen watcher, moving over to focus on the report. It had his full attention, as a Systems Alliance TIC would. Intelligence gained was intelligence to exploit, after all.

"They've reinforced the access tunnel with more militia, sir." The Able Seaman replied, listening in on the headphones as their communications array captured enemy radio signals, some of the SSV _Charger's_ crew having hacked into the Batarian's encryption protocols a couple of hours before. Unfortunately, they were still being jammed heavily by the _Vratanka_. "The on-ground commander is reporting that there was smoke deployed, along with… a chemical agent?" The Sailor looked up to the Captain, confused. "The Batarians mention being unable to breath and see, their eyes burning painfully."

"CS gas." None of his Marines had that capability… but the Systems Alliance Military Police did. Smoke was obviously used to screen movement, so at least one Marine was there, as well as an MP. They didn't have the firepower to take on the guards at the choke point, so they assaulted it with deception. That was clever thinking, and Marc internally applauded whoever it was for their audacity and unorthodox methods. He would have to distribute that tactic when he got the chance. "What else."

"One friendly casualty, a single gunshot to the head to a militiaman that was standing in the tunnel, but no one else." An obstacle removed, easy to decipher. But a single gunshot? M7 Lancers were full-auto Assault Rifles, and it was damn hard to fire just _one_ round, especially if one were running and gunning. It must have been a Gladius Battle Rifle, a semi-automatic weapon. "They report that the Batarian's head is completely gone. They're really focusing on the fact that all of his eyes are missing." Marc grunted at that, knowing why. Batarians thought the eyes were the windows to the soul, and that their spirits would pass through them upon death. The Khar'shanians had a large emphasis on their eyes, and it was considered a great dishonor to go for their eyes in battle, or to have one taken. _A single gunshot…_ that had Meer thinking. A Gladius fired a 7.62-gram slug, which was a good round for a semi-automatic weapon, though perhaps not the best weapon to have in this situation. It would leave a good wound, but a headshot wouldn't do that kind of damage.

A Smith and Wesson Model 696 would, though.

"Son of a bitch." Meer smiled as he shook his head, getting it now that he had figured out all the pieces. "Marshal Collins is in the Market District." Along with at least one Naval Security Team member and a Marine, by the sound of it. Master Chief Petty Officer Valentino was right; the young woman was as tough as they came, but she used her brains just as much. Instead of trying to fight her way through, she concealed their approach and dashed in, probably coating both sides with smoke to conceal their escape plan, too. A three-man team was a horribly small size to engage targets, denying the chance to exploit, assault, flank, or even retreat properly. So the Marshal had looked to their specialties and come up with a plan that would deny their enemy's strengths; their line-of-sight. The CS Tear Gas was used to hamper any kind of chase or investigation as they made their escape. A cop… making a prison break, essentially. That woman had brains, alright. Several of the Sailors overheard his words at the continued survival of Marse Collins, and he could tell that the morale of the Operations Center immediately improved. Her tenacity and will were quickly becoming legend in the Marshal's Office, and… yeah, he'd seen the picture of her standing over that dead Krogan, knife in its mouth. That was certainly something to smile about, the Marine in him thought.

"Master Chief?" Meer got on his communicator, grateful that at least _short-range_ comms we're still good, he could still talk to the defensive team that defended the Marshal's Office, and the Eldfell-Ashland Compound in conjunction to their own.

" _Go ahead, sir."_ There was a fair bit of short bursts of gunfire coming over the receiver. Batarians had taken the outer perimeter of the Market Square, but the Marines and the NST's were holding them back… for now.

"Your girl is still alive."

There was a good five-second pause on the radio, punctuated by gunfire at random intervals.

" _God_ damn _!"_ The obvious elation in her voice was apparent, and Marc knew he was doing the right thing, letting the Master Chief know. She was a Shanxi Vet with over a decade of experience, holding things together on the ground, but he knew the disappearance of the Marshal of Therum late yesterday had her worried. _"Knew it!"_ That was likely an exaggeration, but Meer wasn't about to correct her. Stacy had probably spent all night fretting over the Marshal and her Sailors.

"If she's still alive, then chances are your Chief and your Seaman are, too. There's at least one Marine with them from Andromeda Company."

" _Jane's a Mindoir survivor, she's got experience on her side."_ The Texan replied soberly, making Meer nod, though she wouldn't see that. Petty Officer Shepard had survived a similar ordeal at sixteen with no training and no weapons. _"They're probably dragging Solo for the ride."_ There were several sharp reports of single-shot gunfire very nearby, probably from the Master Chief. _"What makes you think they made it?"_

"Smoke grenades and tear gas at the access point going from the Bloodsalt to the Market District." Meer replied, looking to the schematics of No'burg. "One Batarian in the tunnel was shot dead with a single gunshot, right to the head, all four eyes destroyed."

" _That mammoth-killer of hers, no doubt. Just like that Pillars-Priest with his head half blown off."_ Marc had told her that one to give her some hope when she despaired about her missing Sailors and Collins. She hadn't enjoyed hearing about the death of Seaman Lawrence Frazier confirmed, about as much as he enjoyed hearing Andromeda Company wiped out. So Sam Collins had beaten a Pillars-Priest? It would be good to hear that debrief. Those biokinetic sadists were wrecking havoc on their defenses, though none had made it to the Square yet. They were probably going to wipe out all other forms of resistance before focusing on the Compound and the Marshal's Office, overwhelm them with cannon fodder and Special Forces tactics. _"We're running low on 'Gels making grenades and ammo blocks. I figure we've got… a couple hours at most before we're down to our last blocks."_ Marc grimaced at that, knowing that the Master Chief had actually been conserving on ammo, but with the perimeter overrun and the Batarians keeping the Marines and NST's on their toes, sticking themselves out to force the defenders to fire at them to hold them back… a couple of hours was the conservative guess. The only reason the _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette hadn't fired upon them was because they didn't know exactly where Garm Jor'raddah was, not wanting to accidentally kill the Jackal. Who would have thought that fucking son of a bitch would actually have a use? _"I've got shotguns and two ammo blocks for last defense. Then it's spit wads and foul language."_

"Keep frosty out there, Master Chief. I'll send out the rest of our 'Gel and anything else we can convert to stave them off as long as possible." The Captain replied, knowing that it was a fools' errand, hoping that they would cause enough of a loss of life for the Batarians to pull back. They could care less about the militiamen, and these were probably Batarian slaves in cheap armor and carrying cheap guns. They were simply going to wear out the defenders until they made mistakes, and then the SIU, the Krogan Heavies, and the Pillars-Priests would descend upon them like the Wrath of God. Collins had sent out a message, and Meer was hoping that _something_ would pull through to stall the advance; an Alliance Fleet, a Turian Patrol… he would take Hanar Preachers talking the Batarians to death if it bought them time.

They were running out of it.

* * *

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino crouched in her position behind a plasticrete barricade that had been further reinforced with PlastiGel, CeramiGel, and MetalGel to make a high-density polymer shield interlaced with hardened ceramic plates and covered with alumnisteel for protection. The barrier stood a little higher than waist high if she were to stand on her feet and risk getting shot at, using the defensive position to either crawl, duck walk, or scoot back and forth from the semi half-circle of protection used to defend the Marshal's Office in which it sat in front of. It likewise gave them the ability to protect the Compounds in which the Eldfell-Ashland Colonial Administration Building, the Colonial Government Building, and the Systems Alliance Administration Building. The Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps had the defenses of the first two, bolstered with Systems Alliance Marines, in which they were defended by a double-set of Texas barriers; a plasticrete monstrosity that stood four meters tall, almost one meter thick in the narrow part, and had been filled in the middle with soil and rubble. That containment wall wasn't going to be breached with anything less than cannon fire, and so far, the defenders in the Compounds, while light, had been offering them flanking fire as they manned the wall on _ad hoc_ scaffolding that butted the interior wall to give them use of the wall as a defensive position while being able to fire over it at ground targets. Sadly, the hardened guard towers the Texas barriers once boasted had been shot to shit by the Batarian militiamen riffraff, making those two positions not only bullet-magnets, but half-a-dozen Marines had died firing back at the Khar'shan State Militia, giving it as good as they got before succumbing. They had all finally been killed when the structures themselves failed to stop rounds from too many holes in the structure itself, being only twenty centimeters thick to start with.

They were losing, but help was on the way. At least, that's what Val continued to tell herself.

"Meer re'lly thinkin' she still livin'?"

There was a lull for the time being, the Batarians not probing the Sailors and Marines who manned the Alamo, as the defensive position was called, only poking out to get them to fire at them sporadically and waste ammunition. Sometimes it would be one or two, or sometimes it would be dozens. If they didn't fire at the militiamen, the Batarians would throw grenades at them. That was the sitch they were in. Stacy looked over to Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, the Australian looking at her from his position by her side, having worked together and _been_ together too long to stop now. If they were going to die, both agreed they would die by each others' side. It was looking that grim.

"Yes, he does. And I believe him." Stacy replied as she peered over the barrier for a second, checking the perimeter before ducking back down, the sound of a round slapping against the barrier not uncommon as some Batarian Designated Marksman did his job to keep their heads down out of necessity. While he wasn't 'good' good, that semi-sniper had killed two on his own and kept the rest wary. She had to concede that he was worth his weight in Eezo. She looked back over to Royce. "He thinks Jane and Solo pulled out too, since their bodies weren't found and I can't see Sam letting something like that happening in front of her. All the enemy forces were accounted for, according to their own radio reports, so they weren't snatched up.

"They're coming _here_."

"Buckley's onna that 'un." Royce chuckled as he lifted his Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms Gladius Battle Rifle and squeezed out two unaimmed rounds towards the surrounded perimeter, mostly to remind whomever out there that they were still alive, and the shot didn't hit anybody. "They should be runnin' f'r the fences, rabbit this dingo den." Stacy merely grunted at that, wishing the same thing. She had already lost eleven of her MP's holding back the Batarians, and she was likely to lose another two due to wounds in the next few hours or so.

Most of the MediGel had been used on the more serious wounds, while triage had the lighter wounds and fatal wounds go without; it was that kind of scenario. The defenders had spent too much of their 'Gels on the barriers, and while it protected them from the murderous mini gun fire from a few Courser Hunter/Killer VTOL's, they had gone through more than half of their supply reinforcing their position. Now they were running out of PlastiGel and CeramiGel to make repairs for their armor from lucky hits and ricochets, and MetalGel for ammo blocks and grenades. The position had started off with fifty men and women from the Navy and the Marines when the _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette Deployment Vessel entered into position, and now they were down to twenty-two in total through casualties and fatalities. The armor and weapons of the dead had been hastily converted into raw components through a Gel Kiln, breaking down any usable elements to dispense 'Gels acquired, but at a horrible ratio. An M7 Lancer or a Gladius would get them perhaps a dozen grams of MetalGel, and twice that in PlastiGel, while Hadne-Keder Onyx Armor netted a few dozen ounces of PlastiGel and CeramiGel. Most everyone had _ad hoc_ repairs to their armor from the nearly Therum-day long defense in front of the Marshal's Office from rounds that cracked through weakened kinetic barriers, splintering plasticrete or alumnisteel, or fragmentation from a lucky tossed anti-personnel grenade. Light wounds that found their way in or around armor and ballistic bodysuits were bound with torn strips of cloth and a light coating of WonderGel to preserve the MediGel and to keep the wounds from getting infected or contaminated.

It was beginning to look a lot like Shanxi.

"They made it, that's what matters." Val reminded Mason, who grunted softly, the Australian man's face going softer as he nodded slowly. It wasn't much of a hope, but it was hope. "Sam's as tough as they come, and Jane's been through shit like this before. The two of them together? They'll find a way, Royce."

"As it should be, luv." He looked over at her, one of his hands finding hers and worming his way into it. "Luv' ya, babe."

"No one ever accused of you dingo-eaters of being smart." She still didn't get why he loved her, this man whom other women just looked at and _stared_ , eggs practically popping out and dumping into their wombs at the chance of having him. She wasn't a good-looking woman by any stretch of the imagination, and a wound in Shanxi left festering due to lack of medical knowledge and treatment had earned her one less uterus. She couldn't have kids, something she knew that Royce wanted, and yet he stuck by her side, despite all the hardships and difficulties. They didn't get married (something they both wanted) because of silly Naval traditions. They couldn't even openly be in a relationship due to fraternization rules, especially since Val was Mason's superior and his direct first-line supervisor. He was ruggedly handsome with a body that the Greek Gods would have built statues in commemoration, and somehow this 'Croppie from Down Under had stayed with her, stuck by her side, thick and thin. She knew he loved her, and no matter how many times she asked, his answer never changed. "Love you too, Royce." She squeezed his hand hard, not just with physical strength, but with all the strength in her heart. Telling him how she felt about him a few weeks ago would have been a casual thing, but now there might be no other chances. She desperately wanted him to know that she did love him, that if he were to fall in battle, she would fight and fight until she bled to death right next to him. She would give him that.

" _They're pushing!"_ Came the call from the starboard side of the defenses, a Marine spotting what they had all been waiting for, something none of them wanting to see.

Five Heavy Infantrymen, Krogan each.

"Aim for the legs!" Val called out, going for the obvious weak point in the heavily-armored, ridiculously hearty Krogan soldiers that were now beginning to lumber up to top speed as they began their charge from the perimeter of the Market Square to where the SA service members were stationed. They were obviously here probably because they had already flushed out the rest of the defensive positions, and now it was their turn. Val looked to port and saw that the assault was a two-pronged one; five more Krogan were coming from the direction of the Maul while the first set came from the direction of the Bloodsalt. No one was getting away this time on either side. "Port side, engage hostiles!" The Square was filled with the sound of gunfire as two separate attacks were sent out to disrupt two different assaults, the Krogan charging the defensive position with reckless abandon, creatures that could withstand such murderous fire. One Krogan went down on the port side as his legs were shot up, the one-ton creature falling to the ground with a heavy thud as his four compatriots continued running forward, gaining in speed and distance. Another went down starboard, and then port. A third went down in port before a second went down on the right-hand side, the Krogan already two-thirds of the way to the defensive position. Two went down at the same time, one for each side as they reached the barrier and leapt over, three Krogan entering the confines of the fortified position.

It was everyone's worst fear; facing a Krogan in confined spaces.

"Far sides! Continue defensive patterns!" Stacy shouted as she maglocked her Gladius to her chest and picked up her Hadne-Keder M500 Storm Shotgun, squeezing a round off into one Krogan's leg, seeing the burst of fire impact the right knee, causing it to bleed slightly but otherwise giving no other seeming injury. Val fired again at the same location to watch the meat of the Krogan's leg get punched inward, a splash of blood and tissue spraying out as the knee was cleaved away and the Krogan went down hard onto the ground. That only served to piss it off even more as it got up on its injured knee, bellowing in rage as it raised an Elite Arms Retaliator Shotgun, firing it at her direction. Stacy had ducked and rolled to one side to miss being struck by the blast of pellets as she fired again, this time aiming for an arm. The Retaliator's grip broke into pieces as half of the Krogan's three-fingered hand disappeared, the forefinger turning into paste along with a part of the palm. This seemed to only piss the Krogan off even more.

Well, at least it couldn't use a weapon, now.

The Tuchankan let off a bestial roar as its blood-red eyes focused on her, its large maw splitting open to issue its challenge as Stacy saw something that she hadn't expected to see; the roof of its mouth. The blonde woman's eyes went wide as she aimed and fired her M500, a spray of pellets blossoming forth from the shotguns' cavernous barrel, rushing forward in hypervelocity as they struck against the one-ton creature at a fraction of the speed of light, pulping soft tissue as they passed through the skin and entered what laid within.

The Krogan fell over, dead.

 _Son of a BITCH!_ Stacy thought, elated, as she saw her shot hitting the soft palate of the roof of the mouth, orangish blood spraying from the hit as the spread of pellets went through the tissue… and right into where the braincase was. _Sam wasn't shittin'! It_ IS _a soft spot! Thank you, Sam!_

"Go for the roof of the mouth!" The Master Chief shouted over the din of battle and roar of gunfire, turning to see that the other two Krogan that had entered the defensive position were being shot at by Sailors and Marines, but ineffectively. Krogan were built tough, could take an insane amount of damage, and were even practically bulletproof in certain locations; their bony headcrests, their large humps, along their shoulders and the lower backs. The rest of them were dense skin and dense muscle, making most small and mid-sized caliber weapons ineffective as the rounds themselves failed to penetrate through their thick hides, cushioning the damage as it would prevent the rounds from hitting anything remotely vital. But a weakness such as that was a boon, a turn in the tide of battle. Stacy threw herself forward towards the next Krogan, who was half-curled upon himself to take advantage of just that level of protection, soaking up rounds against his naturally tough hide as he readied himself for a charge when the Master Chief did her own charge at him, executing a baseball slide at the last second as she slipped under the Krogan with her shotgun aimed upward, going for a point that she was decently sure would work just as well; the underside of the jaw. The barrel went up and under the thick jaw to jam itself into the softer tissue there as the MP pulled the trigger, the shotgun roaring to life as the Krogan grunted one last noise before tottering over a second later, falling to one side with a loud thud. She looked over to see the third Krogan lying dead as well, a Marine Sergeant by the name of Miller with his own M500 Storm Shotgun in his hands as he looked over to the Master Chief, nodding to her once in acknowledgement and gratitude.

They had won, but a quick glance at the position showed that it had cost them eight lives.

Val's eyes swept at those who laid still or who were obviously not going to make it, and her heart seized for a moment when she spied something truly heart-wrenching. Smashed against the wall of the Marshal's Office were two bodies she hadn't hoped to see, Petty Officer Third Class Kevin Todd Michaelson and Petty Officer Third Class Valerie Karina Laguna. Both had been in the same boot camp class, assigned to the same ship, and had even been promoted together. They had been lovers who had kept it discrete, and Val had looked the other way when the telltale innuendos came to her attention, pleased that they kept it professional on duty. Their deployment to Therum had been as much a boon for them as it had been for Stacy and Royce, able to let their hair down, so to speak, Valerie sharing Kevin's CHU with little discretion. It had been cute in a teenager sort of fashion, and it had reminded her of herself and Royce when they had been younger. Now they laid on the ground, lying next to one another, their bodies broken and shattered, obviously smashed against the wall of the Marshal's Office by a Krogan. Somehow, despite it all, even in death, their hands had managed to find one another's, holding each other's in their final moments, together. They had been all of nineteen years old, talking about finishing their tour of service and getting married. Hot tears burned her eyes as her throat thickened with grief and rage.

Stacy all but barreled towards the barricade, mounting the defensive position with a leap as she stood tall and proud, hitting the release on her Onyx Armor helmet and letting it fall to the side as she roared out in defiance, her shotgun held high. It was pain and retribution that strengthened her voice, aided by loss and hope. It was a call that echoed from ten thousand years of war and brutality, when the first men learned of the killing power of wooden club and chiseled rock, to the fields of Greece where Hoplites charged forward, armed with bronze spears and shields, to the days of the Legion, Romans marching all over Europe, to the high seas where Viking Marauders invaded with the strength of iron and steel, of the Knights of old, armored and valiant upon steeds, to the days of gunpowder, European armies fighting shoulder to shoulder against one another, of the pride of the ancient Samurai, masters of the blade, to the pioneers and frontiersmen of the American West, holding defense inside a mission against an army ten times the size of their own. It was the sound issued forth by a warrior in which no quarter would be given or asked of, that the only thing offered would be pain and death. Ten thousand years of evolution and progression from those days of old, and yet that beast of savagery and vengeance lived on, primal instinct and fiery blood lived on deep within, a soul tempered by blood and fire, never to give up or give in. Stacy Michelle Valentino stood on top of the barricades with her Storm Shotgun held high above her head as she offered the undeniable challenge, spitting defiance at the end of days, to defy fate and Gods with the stubborn will of mortal beings. Her voice echoed throughout the Market Square, redirected by metal walls and rolling over the positions that it hosted, both friendly and enemy. It was wordless but not without meaning, an offer to those who thought themselves strong, to meet in battle. She issued the call, and regardless of language or species, it was a universal message meant to provoke.

The challenge was accepted.

Master Chief Stacy Valentino slowly lowered her shotgun to her side as she watched ten figures coming forth, walking out into the open Square, neither fast nor tactical. It was a swagger, almost, from each one of them, a confident walk as they brought themselves forth from the defensive positions of the Batarians, exposing themselves as they sauntered out in the open. No weapon graced their hands, and no armor adorned their bodies. Their faces were bared for all to see, savage faces that held glee in their four eyes and cruel lips. The robes that adorned their body were but cloth, and yet was a testament to their rank and station, as powerful a calling card as a man festooned with weapons. It was a sight to behold, those ten, walking forward as if to meet at high noon, the clock winding down to the bell's toll. The red robes that they wore were sewed with black patterns, looking almost like a cassock but with much more sinister connotations. There was no denying who these beings were, _what_ they were.

Pillars-Priests. Ten of them.

But Stacy wasn't alone.

Royce Abraham Mason mounted onto top of the barricade, by her side, standing there with his Gladius in his hands, just as ready. To her other side was Marine Sergeant Roy Miller, an M7 Lancer cradled at the ready. The fourteen defenders that were left in front of the Marshal's Office each mounted the barricade, forgoing defense for defiance, standing together in what would be their last moments. Sailor and Marine joined shoulder to shoulder as their own personal last will and testament, a race seen as barbaric and somewhat backwards by many in the galaxy, too stubborn to know when to quit. Fourteen stood, so many of their own fallen in battle, the last works of their lives. Stacy remembered something said back in Shanxi, something from antiquity. It had come from a Marine Gunnery Sergeant, when _Operation: Repensium_ had become a disaster and a slaughter, and some four hundred Marines and Sailors had been forced to hold off in (of all things) a Goddamn school. She remembered Sam Collins' fondness for quotes and such, and as she thought of the Marshal of Therum, she said what she knew were going to be her last words.

" _Stranger, ye who has pass us by,  
_ _Tell dear Sparta that here we lie.  
_ _By command and writ of our law,  
_ _Here three hundred have fought and fall.  
_ _Freedom's grace was given to thee,  
_ _Our lives given for its creed.  
_ _We honored our kin and our past,  
_ _Here we fought to our very last.  
_ _For land and home and sun and sea,  
_ _No free man shall ever bend knee."_

"Sam'll be proud o' ye, luv." Royce offered, his hand worming into her own, Stacy squeezing it in response as she looked on at the sight of the Pillars-Priests, knowing that they would all likely be dead inside of a minute. One Pillars-Priest was capable of wiping out a platoon, and in fact had according to reports from Captain Marc Meer. Biokinetically-capable and quite powerful, these creatures were taught that they were the most powerful creatures of a race that worshipped strength, trained to be mobile artillery, and sent to destroy any resistance that normal forces couldn't defeat. Just one would have been a disaster. Ten? They would be slaughtered, without a chance to stop even one of them.

They would die standing, but they would die.

Stacy stepped forward and off the barricade, her booted feet landing on Therum earth as the Master Chief and Master-at-Arms of the SSV _Canberra_ met her fate with steel and courage, joined by the last of the brave, men and women of the Systems Alliance Navy and Marine Corps, each coming to do battle as if in the days of old; meeting their foes headlong into battle. Defenses and barricades wouldn't work against a Pillars-Priest, and the only possible option was to charge at them, overwhelm them with gunfire until they got close enough to fight them hand-to-hand, where their Biotics wouldn't be effective. It was a suicide run, like the charge of the Light Brigade, it was not they to wonder why, it was they who would do or die. Stacy gripped her Storm Shotgun in her hands and looked to Royce, telling him that she loved him for the last time. She would die by his side, and he hers, and that was okay. The thoughts of retiring together and growing old on some colony like Elysium and Eden Prime evaporated, the dream dying as she walked forward, stepping towards her demise. She wasn't alone as the fourteen remaining defenders all walked forward hoisting assault rifle and shotgun, readying to fight for the colony, for their people, for their government, and their species. There was no finer way to go, not better cause to have.

Today was a good day to die as the Master Chief gave off her last order.

"CRY HAVOC AND LET SLIP THE DOGS OF WAR!"

* * *

The skies of Therum, tinted red, began to burn as a pillar of smoke and fire speared forth through the heavens, igniting oxygen and nitrogen as the atmosphere boiled. The sound of a thousand thunder strikes at once echoed through the skies as a light brighter than any sun pierced the scant clouds as spreading rings of meteorological distortions exploded from the heavens, spreading violently outwards as gale-force winds of superheated air billowed from the point of impact. The sound of it was deafening, a sonic boom that erupted for hundreds of kilometers in every direction as day blazed even brighter, blinding even those who covered their eyes from the intensity. The ending shockwave was the worst, the result of the even disrupting atmospherics so badly that everything that was airborne was buffeted about with massive turbulence, sending smaller aircraft tumbling out of the sky, crashing into the ground below while larger vessels struggled to keep level, losing position as scanners and sensors were damaged by the resulting shockwave, no kinetic barrier able withstand the force of wind and ionization.

It appeared in the sky, the thing that tore open the heavens and cleaved the sky into two as pyrocumulus clouds of smoke and heat spread out from its vector of travel, each ascending ring larger than its lower one, spreading out in dozens of kilometers in radius, an inverted vortex ring of force and violence that shattered the skies with its re-entry. Turbulent vortices spread out from the impact as winds howled at almost eighty knots, buffeting anything not permanently attached to the ground as vaporized water steamed outward from the spreading rings, raising the temperature around it another ten Celsius. The result of the Rayleigh-Taylor Instability of low-density upper atmospheric fluids entering the heavier-density lower atmosphere of Therum, creating an exponentially expanding bubble of superheated air that nearly knocked everyone off their feet, shattered alumniglas windows, and rattled buildings, not to mention violently displacing aircraft, sending many to crash to the ground while the few remaining ones struggled violently to stay aloft.

The object hovered in the sky, awashed with heat and vapor, steam billowing from its form as it bled re-entry temperatures into the surrounding area, masking its description for a moment before the water vapor finally burned off to reveal what had come from the heavens, a harbinger of the skies, exiting out of FTL in-atmo.

Sitting a kilometer above the colonial city of No'burg… was a Turian Bird of Prey.

* * *

Author's Note: Guess who came to dinner?

0300-Series Marine - The Basic Rifleman of the United States Marine Corps, with separate designations for things like automatic rifleman, grenadier and the such, the 0300's are the meat and muscle of the Lean Mean Green Machine. I might tease Marines as I am former Army, but a platoon of Marines is generally forty pissed-off Jarheads who like things like explosions and shooting shit to pieces. Not a sight to see being on the opposite end of the battlefield.

Capsaicin - extracted _oleoresin capsicum_ from chili peppers that have been grounded down and extracted with ethanol create Capsaicin, the product of which is suspended in propylene glycol and turned into an aerosol to make the pepper spray that Police Officers use today. If you've ever been hit by it (and I was during a training program so I would know how it felt) it completely and utterly fucking sucks. The words ' _extremely discomforting_ ', _'gagging for breath'_ and _'blinding pain'_ are rather accurate descriptions. I was pretty much useless for ten minutes, and trying to clear out my eyes and runny nose for a good while afterwards. Whoever made this shit up (and may you burn in hell) was one very smart motherfucker. Pepper spray, a non-lethal, has saved many lives on both sides of the law, as every time pepper spray was used, it was that or the gun, and the police officer chose life over killing. So… thanks for the invention, no matter how bad it fucking sucks to be hit with it. My alternate to CryoSpray.

Talents - Where The Law Stands Tall is a cop story, and it was interesting to make new talents and specialities for it. The thought of 'cop apps' on an OmniTool let me get the chance to be creative in a universe that didn't seem to possess any… to include the Turian C-SEC Detective that could somehow shoot a sniper rifle better than anyone else. The creation of non-lethals (concussive shot notwithstanding) was fun. Not to mention what a Marine Rifleman would have (just thinking of what a soldiers carries on their kit, like magazines, grenades, multitools and the such made me think of some of the ideas).

Riot Shield vs. Ballistic Shield - The difference is usually that Riot Shields are translucent polycarbonate shields meant for melee, low-velocity rounds, and thrown objects. Ballistic Shields, on the other hand, are generally made of metal and can stop even light military rounds (like the AK's 7.62x39mm).

IARD - Immediate Action Rapid Deployment. This is a police tactic usually responsible by regular police officers to quell a situation of violent crimes and situations (like riots or terrorist actions) before the arrival of specialized units, such as hostage negotiators, SWAT, or riot police. The big ones are school shootings, as it is rare negotiations ever take place and MASCAL is generally guaranteed, and terroristic actions, in which the same thing is likely.

Ammo Blocks - Universal? A one-kilogram block is 2.2 pounds, which is as heavy if not heavier than most light caliber pistols in itself. So I have 'appropriate' ammo blocks, in which the pistol block is 375 grams of ammo. The Smith and Wesson fires a 12.5-gram slug (giving thirty shots) while the Glock fires a 5-gram slug (which is 75 shots). Assault rifles have one kilogram blocks in which the Lawbringer fires 214, which equals to a 4.67 gram slug. The Lancer fires a 5.56 gram slug (179.85 shots per block), the Modulus fires a 6.8 gram slug (147.05 shots per block), and the Gladius a 7.62 gram slug (131.23 shots per block); the three 'big' military calibers. A long-time fan of mine has issues with me turning the 'grain of sand' shots into actual gram slugs, but I like the thought that, in our terms, gun nuts are all about calibers and power. Especially with the Turians, this would seem to make sense. I think of something later for shotguns.

Mass Effect Canon rounds - a grain of sand, which a grain is 0.75 grams, still capable of firing 1,250 times with a kilogram block of ammo. I miss not caring about ammo.

Kaman Line - the theoretical line that separates atmosphere and space. Huh? Read my Mass Effect: Battle of Menae: Chapter 16 - A Suicide You Can Walk Away From for a better description on what I'm about to do next chapter. Because spoiling is no fun. (Well, yes, it is.)

DUSTWUN - Duty Station, Whereabouts Unknown. A horrifying Army call meaning that a Soldier is missing in Action, possibly kidnapped. I went through a couple of these, specifically the 101st Airborne Division's three missing soldiers whose vehicle was attacked and taken, their bodies found later on. We pretty much diverted like two Brigades worth of people looking for them for two days. Private Jessica Lynch was likewise a DUSTWUN when that convoy was hit.

"…To the pioneers and frontiersmen of the American West, holding defense inside a mission against an army ten times the size of their own." - The is a reference to the Alamo, where legends like William Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett fought against the armies of Santa Anna. Only one man was known to survive the Alamo, a runner to alert Sam Houston of the impeding battle, while the rest fought for three days and nights before finally falling. This event led to what is know known as the War of Texas Independence, creating the Republic of Texas, their rallying cry "Remember the Alamo!"

The Epitaph of Simonides - Sadly, the original stone placed upon the last stand of the Battle of Thermopylae has been lost to the ravages of time, weather, and seismic activity. There are inscriptions to its original words in Ancient Hellene, " _Oh Stranger, tell the Lacedaemonians that we lie here, obedient to their words_." There are many modern translations of this, but surprisingly, there is one quote from King Leonidas himself, his response to the Persian Ambassador who asked him to surrender his arms. His words? ' _Molk'n La'be_ '; Come And Get Them.

Cry Havoc… - Attributed to Marcus Antonius, Mark Antony, these were the words given after Caesar's assassination by the eight betrayers, Antony giving an eloquent speech to incite the crowd against the assassins. From Shakespeare's play _Julius Caesar_ , likely Antony didn't say these words as 'Havoc' was a mid-medieval English term in the military to go forth (attack).

Pyrocumulus Clouds - Seen with nuclear explosions and violent volcanic eruptions, this is generally the pyroclastic cloud that we call 'the mushroom cloud'.

Rhyleigh-Taylor Instability - when a less dense material (fluid) pushes against a more dense material. The easiest one to observe is having a cup of oil, and then pouring water into it. Other examples are supernova and atmospheric nuclear explosions. SCIENCE! :D

And… you know you've been waiting for this.


	28. Libera Nos A Malo, VIII

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 23 2175**

Author's Note: Go cook yourselves some popcorn, dear readers; I'm going to show you something I've been waiting for until this moment, and something that's been missing out of the games.

SPECTREs. _REAL FUCKING SPECTREs._ It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time!

Enjoy!

* * *

" _You've come here looking for weapons? You've come to the right place._

" _This here is the Calridge Hi-Tec semi-automatic 9mm pistol. Too 'downtown'? I agree. The M24 shotgun, pump-action, five round magazine. You know what? You're not a hunter, what am I talking about? I'm getting rid of it. This is the FN2000 from Belgium; they do make something better than waffles. It's beautiful, but I can tell this isn't Disco enough for you so I'm going to put it right here. We're looking at a Milcor 40-millimeter grenade launcher; tear gas, smoke… Hippie control. Tough, good taste. Let me tell you something, size does matter, don't let anyone tell you different. This is an M134 7.62 minigun, six individual barrels; the torso-taker, the powder-maker. Boys in the service call this Uncle Gazpacho and Puff the Magic Dragon._

" _Okay…_

" _These… are the Cubans, baby, these are the Cohibas, the Montecristos. This is a kinetic-kill Sidewinder vehicle with a secondary cyclotrimethylene trinitramine RDX burst. It's capable of busting the bunker under the bunker you just busted. If it were any smarter, it would write a book, a book that would make 'Ulysses' look like it was written with a crayon. It would read it to you. This is my Eiffel Tower, my Rachmaninoff's Third, my Pieta…it's completely elegant, it's bafflingly beautiful, and it's capable of reducing the total population of any standing structure… to zero._

" _I call it the Ex-Wife."_

 _CEO Justin Hammer, Hammer Industries, to LTC James 'Rhodey' Rhodes, USAF_

* * *

Seven coffins dropped from the air to land in the largest open space in Nova Yekaterinburg.

The coffins really weren't coffins; they were Hierarchy Individual Drop Pods, specifically created for use for the Office of Special Tactics. Master Engineers designed the HIDPs to do many things; an insertion vehicle, a bunker, a defensive point, and if all else failed, an impromptu small-scale kinetic strike. It held supplies and equipment for those inside, and was modulated to fit not only Turians in Heavy Final Line Armor, but even Krogan and Hanar if necessary. Built to withstand the kinetic impacts of even medium-sized machine gun fire for several minutes, the HIDP came with a small fusion core batter to power its oversized kinetic shield generator, to give its occupants some of the best defenses that money _couldn't_ buy. Plated with iridium-reinforced steel with framework in titanium and depleted uranium, its small Eezo core was given a positive charge in order to _increase_ the mass of the vehicle, to create a striking impact against those it was launched against. The occupants themselves laid suspended in a bubble of emulsion fluid to withstand the shock and super gravitational forces of landing, rated to take up to twenty-five times normal Citadel gravity with no injury received. Anything on the outside, on the other hand, would be thrown back by the force of the landing.

All seven landed in the earth, releasing small shockwaves of force to stagger any who might be nearby.

It was a testament towards those Master Engineers of the Hierarchy that the vehicles, black and sleek, landed properly; they weren't tilted, nor did they land on their side. Each landed perfectly upright, with the occupant inside suffering no injury or shock. Each was ready for battle, and the green light of landing had been given as the forward shell rapidly dropped from the top to crush anything that might be in front of it, creating a ramp for those inside into use as the emulsion fluid they were suspended in, sprayed outward to blind enemies with its gooey substance and cake their weapons with its slightly-tacky residue. The occupants, having been in a bubble but not in the fluids themselves, were in perfect fighting form; fresh and ready as seven figures exited the craft in a tactical manner as each readied their weapon of choice.

There stood seven figures in black armor with red undercoating; the hallmarks of HMA SPECTRE MasterGear Armor.

Each one was a testament to their own kind, over a thousand years of experience gathered in those seven beings. Each one taught and trained in the deadly arts of war and unconventional battle, they had risen to the top of their species, a paragon each, lethality made flesh. Money and technology had been spent on each to increase their effectiveness, to make then the epitome of Death itself, nothing more feared. Boastful claims and vengeful wishes made fools of those who claimed to have taken one down, while a thousand fools had tried and failed. Hand-picked they were from the offerings of their species, no higher honor given than to said to be one of the best, in the service of all. They represented something more, something greater, each and every one of them.

They were known as the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance; the Galaxy knew them as SPECTREs.

Created over a millennia ago to combat criminality and terrorism, the Office of Special Tactics quickly became the not-so-subtle answer when governments and diplomacy failed. When negotiations went wrong, when war was the answer, when the law couldn't bring someone in, _they_ were called in. Authorized to use any means necessary to complete a mission, they had the ultimate authority amongst the various governments of the galaxy, even those not of the Council giving sway to their demands so as not to offend one of these elite members. Scum looked over their shoulders in fear of seeing one of these deadly beings, but it was more likely that the strike would be swift and invisible; when one least expected it. It was said that they were the last thing no one ever saw coming, and their reputation was one instilled by terror by those who dared go against normal conventions.

Seven SPECTREs had arrived on Therum at its most desperate hour.

They had come at the call from one who may one day be one of them, a plea of help for her race and people against that which they feared. War had come to their backwater colony, and the cry had been sent, sent to those she trusted and believed in. It was not a call for bargaining or posturing, for governments or negotiations. Evil had come in the most terrifying way, and she had called upon those whose very existence was defend that which was good. One day, that woman may be their sister, a fellow Agent of the Council who would one day be asked to hold the line, to stand defiant against those who would abandon peace and desecrate law. In such elite company, all were considered equal, never held back by race or creed, honored for the skills they had and the path they have walked. They had come to answer the call of one of their own, and seven now stood upon Therum to defend a race that was not their own, to fight enemies that were not theirs, to save those whom they had never met. It was they who represented the righteous, the stalwart, and the brave. It was they who represented what was good, prepared to deliver those in need from evil. Appointed by the highest authority in the galaxy to defend and protect by any means necessary, they were the law; enforcement personified.

It was a day that the law would stand tall.

They stood in front of the HIDP, those seven warriors in black and red, brandishing not only their personally chosen weapons of power and skill, but also of technological advancements and equipment that made them stand taller amongst their kin. There was a Drell, armed with an Aegis Pack M-29 Incisor Sniper Rifle, her form drifting in and out of view as the armor began to blend in with the surroundings, obvious active camouflage as two light-form holograms appeared next to the Rakhanan, indistinguishable from the first. There was a male Salarian, tall and lithe, with three robotic-like leg protrusions coming from the back of his armor, already lifting him up from the ground, giving him the ability to walk without using his legs. He carried an Ariake Technologies' M-90 Indra Automatic Sniper Assault Rifle in one three-fingered hand while the other tossed out a silvery orb the size of a tennis ball, a drone that was rolling about around its master. There was a male Turian, and obvious Special Forces Warrior of the Final Line, armored to hell and gone with thick plates, electrostatically-glowing plates of hovering hardened PlastiGel known as Tech Armor, dropping a device at his feet where a glowing barricade of energy encircled him as he attached a thick ballistic shield to his left arm, while hoisting a Ariake Technologies' M-37 Falcon Heavy Objective Weapon, while two drones disengaged themselves off his back and went to each side of him, weapons raising as they hovered by him, assault turrets to defend their master. There was an Asari, an obvious Strike Huntress, who totted an Armali Council Disciple Offensive Shotgun in one hand, while her other hand wavered with her biokinetic abilities, with an Elite Arms CS-18 Rapidstrike Submachine Gun on one hip and an Asari's Biotic Sword on the other. There was another male Turian, pulling off an Omega State Arms AMR-B21 Mulcher Anti-Personnel Heavy Machinegun from his back, festooned with what appeared to be a Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle on his chest, a Krogan-styled Nakmor Pride Arms' Graal Spikethrower Shotgun on his hip, and a Palaven Industries' Milcor Anti-Personnel Launcher for grenades and other devices, an obvious Blackwatch Soldier. There was a male Turian, holding what appeared to be a normal Elanus Risk Control Services' M-15 Vindicator Battle Rifle, but by the waves of mirage emanating from his body indicated that he was a Cabalist; a Turian Biotic. The last was a massive beast, a Krogan that was head, hump, and shoulders taller than the others, hoisting a Krogish Warhammer with the head the size of a small crate, the head glowing blue with Eezo-usage, and upon his back was something utterly terrifying; an Omega State Arms Heavy Incinerator, a weapon that fired out globules of superheated sticky plasma at ranges of up to two hundred meters.

The line had been drawn in the sand, figuratively speaking, and these were the ones who were going to defend it.

Eyes blinked and stability was regained by all those in the Market Square as feet were regained and weapons collected after the maelstrom of the in-atmo FTL Jump exiting in the skies of Therum, a Corvette-Class Turian Bird of Prey hovering above No'burg. It had already activated its defense suites as MAC guns and GARDIAN lasers began to pound away at the _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette Deployment Vessel, fifty gram rounds accelerated at a low percentage of the speed of light slamming into the hull of the vessel while high kiloWattage beams of ultraviolet-intensity beams burned through the reinforced durasteel alloy of the Batarian vessel. The _Vratanka_ -Class ship was billowing out smoke as explosions rocked through its hull as the vessel attempted to flee, beginning to soar higher and further away when one of its engines was hit with a high-intensity beam. The thruster exploded in a flash of light as a small shockwave nearly capsized the ship in-flight, sending it reeling on all three axises as it attempted to stabilize itself with only three-fourths of its capabilities while under attack and taking damage. A large explosion erupted somewhere in the amidships of the Deployment Craft as it began to splinter into pieces, debris raining from the vessel as it began to careen towards the earth, falling faster and faster into an unscheduled landing. It crashed seconds later outside of No'burg in an explosion that could be heard for kilometers, a ball of smoke and fire erupting from its corpse as Heavy Helium and Hydrogen Slush fuel began to burn. The Bird of Prey was merciless as it continued to fire upon the downed craft, ensuring ultimate victory.

The first Pillars-Priest was struck from behind.

The Batarian in its red-and-black robes fell to the ground in a painful heap as something hard launched itself bodily at him, striking him in the center of his lower back with two arms wrapped around his waist for contact. He slammed into the earth with fang-jarring force as all four of his eyes shut closed on instinct from the impact, pain flaring in his spine as he was laid low. He never saw the foot that slammed into the back of his head, stomping his face hard into the dirt with an explosion of pain as he cried out, pain and fear overriding any proper ability to act. His life was cut short with the sound of a single gunshot, a twelve point five gram slug of NiFe MuMetal introducing itself to his skull, exiting out from his upper right eye, taking organs and tissues with it as it left a hole nearly the size of a fist from where it left, a spray of red-orange blood splattering the ground from where his head laid.

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino stood on one knee, her body still somewhat shaken from the violent entrance of a Turian Corvette-Class Bird of Prey arriving dramatically into Therum, the crazy Turians exited out of FTL _inside_ a planet. She never thought that once in her entire life she would be grateful to see the vessel that had once filled her with dread on Shanxi, knowing just how effective those Corvettes were, as well as the Turians who manned them. The explosive entrance had knocked most of the Coursers away, crashing most, and had dealt a staggering blow to the _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette Deployment Vehicle, knocking it out of its position in the sky as the Bird of Prey began to attack it in earnest. What she had assumed to be her final moments had completely turned around as she looked in front of her to see seven Turian-styled Drop Pods in front of them, all oriented towards the Batarians.

And then she saw who had come out of them.

 _Holy… fucking… SHIT!_

Seven SPECTREs stood in front of the remaining defenders of the Systems Alliance… facing their foes. The Master Chief was both impressed and appalled by what she saw in terms of equipment and weaponry, giving credence what everyone in the galaxy assumed; that the SPECTREs literally had the best equipment possible. Each one looked like a juggernaut in their own right, the right hand of Death itself made flesh, to dispense justice as they saw fit. Terrifying, brutal, and absolutely lethal, they came for one thing and one thing only; to destroy whomever they saw fit was a threat to society without compunction or repercussion. Val knew that what she was looking at was their salvation, their _pièce de résistance_ , their chance at life and success. No matter what she felt about aliens in general, she knew that this was their opportunity.

"Sailors! Marines! To arms!" The Master Chief shouted to her brothers and sisters in Alliance Blue, standing on her feet. "To the Hierarchy Drop Pods! Suppress enemy and defend the SPECTREs!" The order was a stunning one as Marine and Sailor looked at her for a moment before fourteen pairs of feet rushed forward to take advantage of the forward positions that the HIPDs offered, two men taking each and manning behind their protective covers while training their weapons around their bulk to engage possible targets. "Fire on flankers and grenadiers, and let the Agents take care of the big boys."

It was then she noticed that the ranks of the SPECTREs had swelled by one.

There she stood, in between the Turian armed with the fucking _lightning gun_ and the Cabalist, dressed in Aldrin Labs' Onyx Armor, with a fabricated Ballistic Shield attached to her left arm, and a Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver in her right hand. She stood in their line, shoulder-to-shoulder with some of the most elite solders the galaxy had ever produced, standing tall and defiant amongst their kind. None of the Agents warded her away or told her to go join her kin, taking one look at the human woman who stood in their ranks and gave her a nod of respect and acceptance. It was she who had brought attention to the Revan House of Horrors and the subsequent Trail of Tears to the notice of the galaxy, working with three of their kind to bring down that den of evil, walking every step of the way. It was she who captured one of the most truly despicable creatures of the galaxy single-handedly, the kind of being that practically every government in the galaxy wanted dead soonest. It was she who had called them, to help save her people from a race bent on subjugation and enslavement. There stood amongst the brave and the bold the lone human woman that had earned their attention. A paragon of her kind… and one of their own.

Stacy saw Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins look back once, her helmeted head aimed at her as she looked at Val. The Master Chief nodded her head in reply.

"Go get 'em, tiger." The Master-at-Arms replied, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

They acted in concert, they acted as one. Each moved with precision and decisiveness, each moved with purpose. Each was a virtue standing, a testament to their walk of life. Scientist, assassin, Biotic, huntress, defender, destroyer, cop, and titan, each met the threat that was before them with their skills and daring, amplified with their arms and equipment. Eight beings stood before hundreds in battle, those defiant few, and they would make their presence known and felt.

The two light-form images of Shadow-Strike Operative Kya Drang darted to either side of the Batarian perimeter, causing the militiamen to react by firing at the female Drell, only for their rounds to pass through a hologram. The real Kya Drang, her camouflaged suit blending her into the environment, was never seen as she struck at a defensive position with fists and fury, her knives coming to play as the expert hand-to-hand combatant tore through four Batarian State Militiamen before they even realized there was someone else amongst their ranks. Another three were dead before someone noticed they bodies on the ground. Three more when the fear set in. A full dozen were dead with slit throats and sliced brachial arteries when Kya leapt from the defensive position to pull out her M-29 Incisor Sniper Rifle and put three three-round bursts into the heads of three separate Batarians trying to engage her, their heads pulverized by the three rounds separated by a fraction-of-a-second that ended their lives. She disappeared from view, two more light-forms popping into existence as they raised their Incisors to fire upon the militiamen.

Special Tasks Groups Major Jondum Bau, lifted by his triple-set of mechanical waldoes created by rapidly grown mono-atomic iron alloy crystals, leapt into the air and over a dozen meters to land against the size of a Conex, the waldoes suspending him high in the air as the Salarian's red-skinned OmniTool glowed briefly before launching a dozen Nano-fabricated seeker swarm micro-missiles. Each individual missile was locked on target by the rollerdroid that he used as spotter/targeting-assistance, flashing from his OmniTool suite as they were guided in by nanochip processors with computer guidance to strike on target. Twelve missiles capable of hitting with the force of a stick of dynamite hit twelve separate targets throughout the battlefield in a fire-and-forget fashion as twelve militiamen ended up struck by the micro-missiles, holes the size of a fist appearing from the impact as they fell dead. Jondum was constantly moving, his waldoes crawling along the surface of Conex's, both horizontal and vertical, as he fired his M-90 Indra Automatic Sniper Rifle at anyone that looked to be in charge of something, killing the brain trust of the Batarian State Militia. His black-and-red armor hazed his outline, light fractures stretching out his features to make it difficult to pinpoint his location, throwing his outline out-of-coherence to his own natural form; to the normal eye, he looked as if he were being bent and twisted about in a three meter area. He moved about like the proverbial knight on the chessboard, in accordance to his own rules as the Salarian continued to decimate the militias' chain-of-command.

 _Centurion Primus_ Elias Korvan, a Soldier of the Final Line, never moved once. He didn't need to. Armored heavier than a Krogan, the Turian Defender stood his ground, never budging as rounds came in his direction, bouncing off his many forms of defenses. His iridium-reinforced diamond-skinned steel armor was rated to withstand almost any kind of gunfire, while the electrostatically-glowing plates that hovered mere centimeters from his armor, made of hardened PlastiGel in a polyresinurethane compound, added to the level of protection that Elias had. A thick warbling of energy banded to the ground around him rose to the level of his chest, a kinetic defense barricade meant to withstand even small explosives such as grenades and rockets. In his left arm was a shield, standing as tall as he, several centimeters thick and made of the same material as his armor. In his talons was an Ariake Technologies' M-37 Falcon Heavy Objective Weapon, a flash-forging micro-grenade launcher used to devastate enemy positions, defenses, cover, and assault. Elias merely laughed at the incoming fire directed at his form as rounds pinged away uselessly, the many layers meant to protect him shrugging off the worst of it without issues. Instead, he engaged the biggest threat on the battlefield; a Pillars-Priest. Two rounds from his Falcon had the biokinetically-active Batarian throwing up a barrier to shrug off the explosives as it launched a wreathing burst of warp fire, intending to make him feel as if he were set on fire. Elias laughed again as he continued to pound away at the robed Khar'shanian, seeing whose barriers would fall first while his automated assault turrets fired upon the lines of the Batarians, wrecking havoc.

Strike Huntress Tela Vasir was a wraith on the battlefield as her first strike was to biokinetically charge straight into a Pillars-Priest, shattering his barrier and slamming into him with the force of a wrecking ball. The Batarian was knocked back meters as the Asari drew upon her sword in a casual manner before rushing in and decapitating the rising Pillars-Priest, his head falling to one side as his body fell to the other. The sword was sheathed as she drew upon her Disciple Offensive Shotgun and flashed again through the battlefield, landing in a strongpoint of Batarian defenses, scattering them with the concussive blast of her landing. The Asari leapt up in the air with an empty hand and landed back onto the ground, slamming her fist into the earth as an eruption of power exploded from her form, sending every Batarian within five meters of her flying away with bone-jarring force, many of them slamming into Conex's or installed defenses with bone-breaking results. She then flung out her hand towards some still-standing militiamen who were in her line-of-fire as a series of concussive blasts ripped through the air and smashed into the knot of Khar'shanians, knocking them away. She looked down, found a survivor, and casually put a round through his head with her Disciple before flashing away once more.

 _Centurion Magnus_ Nihlus Kryik engaged a Pillars-Priest with his Omega State Arms AMR-B21 Mulcher Anti-Personnel Heavy Machinegun, utilizing a highly dangerous protonic current of destabilized particles in an arc fired upon a magnetically-created tunnel that linked weapon to target. The Pillars-Priest had erected his barrier to protect himself, and for three seconds, the highly dangerous stream of unstable protons struck against the mostly-invisible barrier with no other effect than to see a stream of what appeared to be lightning hitting an invisible wall. Unfortunately, the highly-illegal weapon won out as the barrier popped and the Batarian was struck by the arc of the Mulcher, screaming for perhaps a quarter of a second before the current superheated his body and broke down his molecular cohesion and he erupted into a steaming slag of gore and blood, no longer recognizable by even his own species. Nihlus grunted in disappointment as he pulled out the empty casing of charged-proton fuel and inserted a new one, firing upon a line of Batarian militiamen in a concentrated sweep that had several erupting into fountains of desiccated flesh and superheated blood. Several ducked as he walked towards their position, in which the Blackwatch member merely tossed a Hierarchy Infantry Kill Grenade over the barricade and took a knee to swap out his expended Mulcher for his Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle as the grenade went off, turning ten Batarians into pulverized bones and organs as he got back onto his feet and launched his Scout Surveillance Package Drone, armed with mini-missiles and a suicide protocol, sending off the Scout to target any camping Batarians hiding behind cover as he fired into another line of defenders.

Marshal Sam Collins rushed forward into a line of Batarian militiamen with her Ballistic Shield raised, rounds pinging off its curved form as she vaulted over a manufactured barricade, kicking a nearby Khar'shanian in the face as she did so while landing on the other side. She pivoted and slammed her shield into another militiaman, knocking him onto his back as she drew her Smith and Wesson and fired twice, and killing two men before ducking behind her shield to protect herself from rounds incoming. She bullrushed ahead and knocked two more soldiers to the side as she slammed a third into a Conex wall with her fabricated shield, slamming her elbow into his unprotected jaw before turning and drawing her 696 once more, firing four times in quick succession to kill the surrounding militiamen, dropping them dead. She took a knee behind the shield to dispense the heat from her MA Revolver as she took a quick assessment of the battlefield, and took a shot of opportunity at a Pillars-Priest trying to defend itself from gunfire coming from the line of Systems Alliance Sailors and Marines, striking him in the spine before he was shredded by Lancer and Gladius fire. She was back on her feet, moving forward to another position with her shield at the ready and Smith and Wesson out and firing.

 _Magister_ Cabalist Abadexus Linaseus threw out a double-shot of lifting fields as two hapless Batarians began to float in the air, their mass nullified. His talons went to work as he followed through with a pitch of a throw orb launched at one of the hovering Khar'shanians, striking him in the chest as the interaction of a negative biokinetic field and positive one resulted in a molecular catastrophic event known as a Biotic Detonation. A blast of smoke and meat struck the area he had targeted as the detonation, more powerful than a HIK Grenade, reduced the population of the position to less than a quarter; a dozen laid dead, another dozen broken, and a third dozen begging for mercy. Linaseus simply turned the area around him into a negation field as he flash-stepped towards the position, bodies beginning to lose their gravity as two streams of pure biokinetic energy formed from his talons as he spun and struck with impunity, miniaturized explosions of biokinetic force lashing out, shattering bones and bodies as he flailed the survivors without regard or remorse.

Khel Burram, simply known as the Titan, rushed forward with his Krogish Eezo-powered Warhammer in his hands, charging the form of a Pillars-Priest with rage in his eyes and a hearty challenge to his stiff lips. The Khar'shanian, seeing a Krogan charging at him with head plate down and a ridiculously large hammer in his hands, launched an offensive attack that the Krogan merely shrugged off as he reached the Pillars-Priest with the twenty kilogram head of the hammer already descending upon him, the positive-charge burst going through the Eezo contained within to double its mass and inertia as it slammed into the top of his skull, cleaving through the Batarian until the face of the Warhammer crashed into the ground, splintering the earth slightly. The Pillars-Priest fell to either side of the strike, his body torn in half as the Krogan chuckled; a good kill. He put the Warhammer on his belt as he pulled out his second most-favorite weapon, an Omega State Arms Heavy Incinerator Unit. The weapon catapulted globules of superheated plasma slurry towards the Batarians as it set body and cover on fire, burning hot enough to melt both into slag within seconds. He kept firing until the plasma tanks ran dry, setting a fairly large size of his portion of the battlefield on fire, burning with intensity. Satisfied with his acts of destruction, he set the flamer onto his back as he took his hammer once more and threw it towards some enterprising Batarians firing at him, the head smashing a pair onto their backs with bone-breaking force as he keyed up his OmniTool and magnetically guided the hammer into a flying battering ram, knocking more aside before lifting his arm to catch it in the air as it returned to him. Burram turned to look at a Pillars-Priest that had joined with the ranks of the militiamen, raising his arms up for defense or assault, and the Krogan merely smiled before he leapt forward with a hearty yell, his blood singing odes to the Krogan Gods as he pulped that one, too.

In less than a minute, there was only two Pillar-Priests left, along with less than fifty militiamen in total.

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino kept up her fire with her Nexus' Gladius Battle Rifle as she shot another Batarian in the head from behind the Hierarchy Individual Drop Pods, the vehicles an intended point of defense for Hierarchy soldiers when the going got tough. Rounds pinged off of its iridium-reinforced steel skin as the Master Chief fired another volley at the Batarians, keeping their heads down as the SPECTREs absolutely _tore_ them to pieces. She couldn't even believe what she was seeing, the skill and talents that they had to offer, a completely lopsided battle that gave credence in what an Agent of the Council could do. It had always been implied that one of their kind could take on a Company of Marine Infantry and come out victorious, and while it had never happened, now Val could see where the rumors had come from. She could barely follow them in what they did, the invisible Drell, the wall-walking Salarian, the Juggernaut of a Turian, the fast-moving, hard-hitting Asari, the murderous Blackwatch member, the devastating Cabalist, and the skull-crushing Krogan. Each one of them was a destructive object of force and violence, and not once did they sue for peace, surrender, or mercy. Whatever the question, war was the answer, and it was answered with finality. What surprised her was seen Marshal Sam Collins flitting through the battlefield with a shield on her arm, engaging the Batarians just as hard, if not with the same level of impact. Still, she had killed two Pillar-Priests on her own, and had killed one the day before, tackling lines of Batarian militiamen with skill and finesse.

It was as if she could see the SPECTRE that Sam might one day become.

The battle wound down as the final troops of the Batarians were mopped up, seeker swarm micro-rockets zipping towards targets as another Pillars-Priest lost his head. Centurion Elias Korvan finally disengaged his turrets and barricade as he walked forward with his M-37 Falcon, banking shots to hit cowering Batarians hiding behind Conex's while Abadexus Linaseus stalked around with his hands moving, sending militiamen careening into Conex walls or lifting them a dozen meters into the air before slamming them into the ground bonelessly. Kya Drang slit the throat of one militiaman while driving her foot into the throat of another as Sam Collins reloaded her Smith and Wesson with her last ammo block, her shield shattered beyond repair as she stood amongst a display of gunned-down corpses. Khel Burram launched his hammer one last time into a group of fleeing Batarians, directing it to smash into every one of them before having it return to his hand, pulling out a cloth to wipe the red-orange blood of his foes, whistling cheerfully while Nihlus Kryik used his Milcor Anti-Personnel Grenade Launcher to flush out two more Batarians from cover before switching to his Graal Spikethrower Light Krogan Shotgun and impaling them with its flechettes. Tela Vasir's Disciple Shotgun pulped the head of a begging militiaman as she pulled her sword out of another corpse, scanning for another enemy to engage while Jondum Bau finally returned to the ground, his waldoes being absorbed into the microfabricator pack on his back, holding out a hand for his roller drone to return to. There were no more targets to engage, no more fight to be had, no more enemies to be dispatched as the seven SPECTREs and lone Marshal stood in the middle of the Market Square of No'burg, slowly condensing towards one another.

"Good fight, good battle." Khel Burram announced as he sheathed his Warhammer, his toothy maw exposed after he removed his helmet to polish off some of the blood that had gotten onto one of the optical viewers. "Not much defiance in them, but it got the blood going."

"I don't doubt there's still more in the city itself, militiamen holding strong points, SIU Agents stalking though the favelas." Marshal Collins replied as she holstered her Model 696, letting the shattered shield drop from her arm, useless now. "I imagine with their _Vratanka_ -Class Corvette crashed and a vast majority of their forces and heavy hitters now gone, that their spine is broken. We'll have to dig them out."

"Not a problem." Nihlus Kryik replied as he pulled out three puck-like objects from his belt and tossed them into the air, three Scout Surveillance Package Drones unfolded in their air, hovering with the use of contragravity thrusters as they flew off in three separate directions. "These will track their movements, and we can have the SA Military converge on their positions and mop up any hotspots." He looked over to Sam, who had removed her own helmet, scored with blood and damage. "You did well out there, sister. You kept up despite the obvious equipment disadvantages."

"Yeah, well, I left my lightning gun in my _other_ weapons locker." That had Tela chuckling as Abadexus gave a wane smiled. "But in all seriousness… thank you. Every last one of you."

"It's what we do." Kya Drang replied, the female Drell blinking her nictitating membrane lids rapidly. "Though I'll admit, I've never actually fought against anything that large or that well dug-in before. Your soldiers did themselves proud holding the Batarians back while outnumbered."

"Indeed. A worthy cause to die for." Elias Korvan replied, nodding his fringed head. "Haven't fought that hard in years. A battle worthy of song and honor."

"We still have a Fleet of Batarians in our sky that needs some tender loving care." The Marshal replied, looking to Nihlus. "I assume there's more coming? Been out of the loop since they arrived."

"Alliance Fourth Fleet, as well as the Hierarchy's Twenty-Third and Twenty-Seventh Fleet are en-route." The Blackwatch member replied, his mandibles twitching. "They should be here in the next ten hours or so, which they'll have to bypass a blockade before they can get to the Fleet itself. But with those numbers, I doubt it will present much of a chall-"

A loud gunshot echoed through the Market Square as Nihlus Kryik went down hard, a spray of blue blood erupting from his left shoulder as the SPECTREs and Marshal instantly reacted to the incoming fire, turning to see one Batarian still standing, hoisting what appeared to be a Batarian State Arms Kishock Harpoon Gun, tossing it to one side as his hand reached into a pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a detonator of some kind.

In his other arm, wrapped around the neck of his hostage, was Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard.

Sam Collins seethed internally at the sight as she knelt by the downed form of Nihlus Kryik, seeing him bleeding out of a wound the size of her thumb from his shoulder. He was groaning in pain as he tried to move, but Sam placed a gentle hand on his chest, indicating that he should lie still as she stood up to face the Batarian, noting that the six other SPECTREs had weapons up and ready, or in the case of the Cabalist, talons ready to invoke biokinetic energy. The Batarian, Collins noted, was dressed in armor that was thicker and heavier than what she had seen on either the militiamen or even the SIU Agents. It was a suit of Armax Arsenals' heavy Predator H Armor, colored in yellow and black. Shepard struggled against her captor as he arm squeezed around her neck, the redhead's face going red as she still tried to break free, driving an elbow uselessly into his solar plex. The Batarian returned the strike with one of his own, slamming his head into the back of Jane's skull. She cried out as her struggles were weakened considerably.

"Stupid monkey bitch." The Batarian swore as his four eyes went to the SPECTREs and Marshal in front of him, ten meters away. "How dare you stand in the path of greatness, impede upon progress! We were content on only the return of the Jackal," that had Sam growl, "but with your slaughter of my men, I will be content with much more than that. See this?" His upraised hand shook the detonator for all to see. "This is a trigger linked to a hundred Polonium-infused mines I've planted throughout this wretched shithole, amongst the worthless scrap huts you monkeys have built for yourself." Collins felt her heart skip a beat at the words 'Polonium-infused'. God… he had armed _atomic mines?_ "The trigger is linked to my heartbeat. I press the trigger, the mines go off. You kill me? The mines go off. And if I see one OmniTool turn on? The mines go off."

A Mexican stand-off and a hostage situation. Sam quickly considered her options.

"You want the Jackal?" She spoke up, her eyes locked onto that malevolent glare that all four black eyes radiated as he focused on her, all his attention on her as she smiled. Her left hand twitch just above the butt of her 696.

"You can share his jail cell."

A single gunshot echoed through the Square as the Batarian's hand disappeared in a mist of blood and tissue.

The Batarian stared at her stupidly for a moment, seeing the Smith and Wesson in her left hand, the Model 696 having been drawn-and-fired faster than he could comprehend, her right hand still hovering over the hammer. He then looked to his own ruined hand, the stump ending at the wrist as the rest had been disintegrated as a twelve point five gram slug struck it with over three thousand kiloJoules of force. Both hand and detonator were now gone, as the trigger was merely a physical one. Shooting his hand off hadn't killed him.

The Marshal cocked her revolver again, and put a bullet in his knee.

The Batarian went down with a scream of pain, crumpling to the Therum ground as he released Chief Shepard, the redhead half-staggering away as she fell to her knees, coughing from being half-strangled by the Khar'shanian that had captured her. Sam walked towards the Batarian, her Smith and Wesson trained on the creature as she gave a quick look to Jane, the Non-Com waiving her off, indicating that she was fine for the time being. Collins reached the Batarian and put her foot into the crook of his left elbow, immobilizing his arm as the Khar'shanian rocked from side-to-side in pain, his lower right leg almost sheered off from the force of the bullet, being held on by a few strips of flesh and muscle. Red-orange blood was leaking from the ruined stump of his hand and from the massive wound to his leg as the four eyes returned to her, still filled with hate.

"You… think you won… monkey bitch?" The Batarian spat out through a rictus grin, baring his fang-like teeth. "My kind… will visit your every world… to pillage… to enslave… to burn… and to _rape_ every… last… one… of… you." He spat at her, spittle arcing upward as it struck the chest piece of her armor, the oral fluids leaking downward. "You know how many… filthy monkey _whores…_ I have fucked? Bent over my mating couch… and listened to their squeals of pain… while I laughed?"

His left foot disappeared into a gory mess, shot off.

"Keep talking." Sam replied without a tone in her voice, her blue eyes hard as she stared at the slightly-convulsing Batarian. "I can do this all day." She looked over to see Jondum Bau standing beside her, placing a gentle hand on her paldron, his lipless mouth raised in a gentle smile as he nodded to her once before bending down with his red-skinned OmniTool glowing around his left arm. He stabbed the holographic skin into the Batarian's remaining arm, where his own OmniTool laid, interfacing with the device as he knelt beside the wounded Khar'shanian, a holographic lens appearing around his eyes for him to access the information within.

"Let see, suicide protocol, simple encryption protocol, intelligence and orders, subscription to Fornax…" Jondum called out, his mouth moving as fast as his on-board CPU. "Annnnnd… done! Transfer successful, suicide protocol has been disabled. Wasn't lying about the Polonium mines, but… signal disarmed now." He stood up to his full two point one meter height, the holographic lens that hovered in front of his dark eyes disappearing. "He's all yours," Bau patted her shoulder again as he leaned in closer and whispered, " _Marshal_." Sam felt herself taking a breath as his hand slipped from her shoulder and walked away, leaving the Batarian to her. Her eyes returned to the wounded Khar'shanian, still moaning in pain as what Jondum said to her finally worked through her mind. Sam sighed as she holstered the Smith and Wesson in its Kylex maglock holster as she queued up her Apple Corps iTool and selected something from its menu. A few seconds later, her right hand was grabbing a pair of steel-enforced manacles.

"On authority of the Systems Alliance Charter and the powers invested in me by the Systems Alliance Ministry of Justice," Marshal Sam Collins announced in a loud, clear voice, "you are hereby placed under arrest for multiple violations and breaches in the Systems Alliance Code of Ethics and Protected Rights Towards Sapient Beings. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you can and do say will be used against you in the Alliance Courts of Law. You have the right to a defense councilor. If you cannot afford a defense councilor, one will be provided by the Office of Public Councilors. Are you not in understanding of the rights that I have just declared for you?"

"Fuck… you." The Batarian moaned, his four eyes squinting at her hard.

"How droll. And unoriginal." Sam replied, not at all surprised. "Chief? Care to do the honors?" She held out the handcuffs to Chief Shepard, who stood at her side with a smile.

"It would be my _upmost_ pleasure."

* * *

The Marshal's Office was rather full at the moment with the remaining crew of the SSV _Charger_ , the Battle Captains running the Tactical Operations Command, the fourteen remaining defenders who had survived the battle, the seven SPECTREs who lounged about in various locations, and the Marshal of Therum herself. The wounded were in triage at the Pit, being worked on by the Corpsmen of both the _Charger_ and the _Chancellorsville_ , while the Turian Agent of the Council occupied one cell, being worked on by his Salarian compatriot. It was this accessible cell that Marshal Sam Collins entered into to see Jondum Bau injecting something into Centurion Nihlus Kryik's arm, his armor off of his body to tend to his gunshot wound. Without the armor, the Turian still represented an exquisite example of his species, broad and lethal. He was sitting up in a make-shift medical cot as Jondum extracted the injector, looking at the bandaged wound for a moment by pulling down the dressing and inspecting the work. ' _Hmm'ing_ ' in agreement, the Salarian created a quick sling out of lightweight PlastiGel with his OmniTool, wrapping it around the Turian's cowl before setting his left arm in the cushioning pocket.

"Keep immobilized for at least three days, and physical therapy afterwards." Bau told the Blackwatch member, who merely nodded in consent, not arguing with the Salarian. "Lucky it missed cowl and clavicle. A little more to the left and you would have lost your arm."

"Thanks for the _espirit de corps_ , Jondum." Kryik replied dryly, his fringed head turning to look at Sam, who stood leaning against the frame of the cell, her arms folded across her chest. "Every Salarian thinks he's a Barber-Surgeon whenever someone bleeds."

"Give him another dose of painkillers, Jondum. I think I hear a Turian crying." The Salarian gave off an amused sound as Nihlus snorted in reply, rolling his oval eyes. The STG Operative made to leave the cell- _cum_ -clinic as Sam quickly slipped an arm around his thin waist, bringing him into a quick hug. "It's good to see you again, Jon."

"Likewise, Sam." The Salarian replied, a smile reaching his thin, lipless mouth. "Be careful with that one. He's fragile." Nihlus just growled as Bau slipped away, chuckling.

"You scared the shit out of me, Nihlus." Sam said as she walked towards the Turian, seeing his plated form and unprotected waist, a far cry from what a human looked like, and she briefly wondered if there was significance for a Turian male being topless around a female. He certainly didn't seem to be looking at her in the eye. "I'm… not doing anything improper, am I?"

"Nothing significant." The strange green eyes lifted up to hers as she looked upon the brown plates and white colonial markings of Nihlus' faceplates, his mandibles closed tight against his face. "The last time I saw you, Sam, you were practically on your deathbed."

"I returned the favor and arrested the son-of-a-bitch that shot you." Collins replied with a smile, making the Turian chuckle. "I assume that he was an SIU Commander or something similar, so he'll be a source of intelligence and evidence we can use against the Batarian Government for this attack. I don't doubt the Hegemony will pawn this off on the 'rebellious elements of misguided zealots and ultra religious patriots'." That had been the excuse that the Batarian Ministry of Truth had given after the raid on Mindoir, blaming it on uncontrolled colonization efforts on a planet that was never theirs. In the next breath, the Minister had condoned the Alliances' request for repartitions and action on the Hegemony's behalf to capture said uncontrolled elements. Every time that there had been a raid done by what was Batarian Hegemony forces, there had always been something why it wasn't their fault; rogue commanders, separatist movement, terrorist action propagated by extremists, ultra right-wing advocacy groups… the list was certainly creative. Ambassador Doyle had once commented after such another excuse given if the Hegemon had issues keeping its people under control. The Minister of Truth's ranting, raving response had gotten him temporarily expelled from the Chamber of Governance in which the Ambassadors and their retinue convened for the sakes of their governments. "It's good to see you again, Nihlus. Things have been pretty hectic ever since I stepped foot on that toxic hellhole, and nothing's been the same since. I don't know if you asked the others to come, but I'm glad you came when you did. We were about to lose." Sam felt her heart grow heavy thinking about the losses, the many Marines that died fighting the Batarians, killed by militiamen, SIU, Heavy Krogan Infantry, and Pillars-Priests. "We lost so much."

"It is sadly the way of things when it comes to war and principle." The Turian replied softly, his gaze thoughtful. "An old Asari SPECTRE told me once when I joined the Office of Special Tactics that each of us was born in blood and steeped in death, that for every SPECTRE gained was a thousand lives lost before, the weight of our comrades pushing us forward." The Blackwatch member looked back into her eyes, really looking at her. "Heroes are not made in peace and tranquility, Sam, nor do we stand tall when all is well. You yourself rose to the occasion when things were wrong, and you made them right. Ever since then, you've stood tall, proud and undeterred by the obstacles before you. Each set you have conquered yourself, seeing through to the end that things that were wrong were set right. Those soldiers who died fighting for their race died believing in something, died fighting for something of worth and value. Do not dishonor their memory by mourning them. Instead, rejoice that they were there when they were needed, facing their enemies with bravery and spirit. They served you, and you them. You will continue on, honoring their memory and contributions, making sure that their sacrifices were not made in vain."

"You… are right." Collins let out a long breath as she dropped her arms, taking a seat on the makeshift cot next to Nihlus, feeling bone-tired. "I guess heroes don't come from the ones who ask to be one, but from the ones who forge ahead in both peace and war, made extraordinary through extraordinary times."

"A good way to look at it, and something _we_ look at for our brothers and sisters." The Turian replied, nodding his head.

"On Revan," Sam began slowly, "you said… you implied that you guys wished for me to be a Agent of the Council. Was… was that true?" The Marshal looked to the Centurion Magnus, his oval green eyes, the pupils not quite slitted by not round, either. "Am I a possibility for becoming a SPECTRE?"

"Yes."

"Am I capable?" Sam asked, feeling a little heady at the thought. She had seen what the other SPECTREs possessed, what they were capable of. Realistically, she was an investigator, an Officer of the Law. "I just watched some Krogan smash the hell out of Batarians with a Warhammer that has a head about the size of my own. You got a Turian that was flaying people alive, and a Drell that was cutting people to ribbons…"

"…And a Marshal that rammed soldiers with her shield, and ended their threat with her sidearm." The Turian interrupted her, his mandibles lifting up into a Turian smile. "Rumor has it you bagged more Pillars-Priest than any of us did." That had Sam's cheeks heating up slightly, knowing that she had practically killed three single-handedly. "Those things you mentioned are capabilities, to be sure, but what matters most is here," a talon went to her chest bone, poking it softly, "to become one of a defiant few that will stand against whatever may come. We'll give you the training to make you better, and the equipment to enhance your capabilities, but what's inside? That comes from within, and no technology or training can ever add to whatever drives a male or female forward. We don't look at just what a person can do, though that is considered as well. We look at what the person _will_ do. Say… a rookie cop tracking a lead like a varren on the prowl, unswayed by complications, traveling great lengths to get to the bottom of what she sees as immoral and wrong." That had Collins smile wanly; had it really been like that, had she really been so… young? "You can't make a being do that, only they can. And you have that spirit in you, Sam. If you are interested, _truly_ interested and not just what some barefaced _vracking_ politician wishes, we will make you capable with your help."

"Is it a good idea?" Collins asked. "I mean… a human SPECTRE? As I understand it, most of the other species aren't exactly fond of us, your species included."

"There will be hardliners and those given into petty hate, this is true." The Blackwatch Commando replied, nodding in agreement. "But this is an opportunity for someone to prove them wrong, to show them what your race is capable of. You yourself have done so with what could have been the worst attack on your species by another since the Relay 314 Incident, and despite the casualties, you did your kind proud, Sam. There will be those who will look at you and not believe, even amongst your own kind." That had Collins nodding thoughtfully. "But the ones you will affect will be the ones who don't immediately see it that way, those who don't immediately judge you based upon what planet you were born on or what race you happen to be apart of. Those who… what is that human term? 'Sit on a fence'? They will be the ones swayed by actions and beliefs, those will be your true audience. Someone merely has to step up and show them how a _human_ can stand tall."

"I… get it. Thank you." Sam took a deep breath, holding it as long as she could, feeling her lungs ache with the act as she let it out slowly, the need for oxygen overriding her apprehensions. _A human SPECTRE?_ She wasn't even twenty, and she already had done the impossible on several note-worthy occasions. Being a Marshal of a planet (yeah, okay, a backwater planet, but still…) was a big deal. She had stumbled upon a highly-orchestrated organization devoted to slavery of the worst kind, and single-handedly captured two highly sought out criminals. To top it off, she would undoubtedly be lauded for her actions in the defense of Therum, the spotlight hitting her full-on. The question was, where to now? Would she bow out gracefully, accepted whatever might come to her as a member of the Alliance Frontier Marshal Services, or would she go forward and see just how far she could go? Either way, she knew that a normal life would not be in her future, though it was apparent that with her Autism, she never really would have had 'normality' in that sense, no matter how she struggled with it. If she were fated to have an unusual life, then why would she try the normal path? If her Autism gave her a gift that could be of benefit to others, then why would she waste it so? She thought of her predecessors, the lawmen of old who upheld justice throughout the ages, some in peaceful times and others during eras of strife. Where would society be if they had given up or given in, had chosen a prosaic life? Who would be looked upon by generations of new police officers and children learning of such legends? What would be said of the first person offered to join the Office of Special Tactics if she refused because she was too young, or too inexperienced, or perhaps not the first choice people would have picked?

"I'm nervous about the whole thing, Nihlus." Sam confirmed, looking at the Turian.

"I know."

"I'll need help from you guys, and not just the training thing."

"We'll be there."

"Can I get a lightning gun, too?" Nihlus merely _hmm'ed_ at that one, making Sam chuckle in response. "I can't believe the Council lets you carry that thing around. Especially after the Omega Civil War a couple of years back."

"That… will have to be a storytime another time." The Blackwatch member replied, his mandibles vibrating for a moment before clamming up to the side of his face, the Turian looking… sad? Sam realized that she must have unknowingly shoved her foot in her mouth, realizing that the Council must have sent Agents to that bloody _coup_ attempt and its destructive aftermath. She apologized as she placed a hand on his good arm in sympathy, knowing without being told that Nihlus Kryik had been there. She had heard the stories (everyone had) but wondered how much she _didn't_ know, and how much of it she really didn't want to. That… could be her, Sam Collins realized, looking at Nihlus as she thought it over. She could be like a Special Forces Operative in the Systems Alliance Military, an N-Level Sailor or Marine sent to the worst locations and situations, given an objective and expected to complete it. She could be the one dropped into the middle of a war, sent into a den of illegality, pointed towards a foe and told what to do. She noted that mercy and quarter hadn't been offered to the Batarians, and while she had no issues with it, she also recalled how _casually_ they had killed their opponents with high-grade tech and weaponry, knowing that they were the betters and still slaughtering the Batarians, not letting them flee or retreat. It had been a butchering one-sided slaughter, and one day that might be her.

But what would have happened to the people of Therum had the SPECTREs not come? What would be of them if they had not been of a level so exemplified that it did indeed look like a slaughter? Batarians dug-in in a hundred locations around the city of No'burg, forced to be flushed out, taking hostages and creating panic? The terror the SPECTREs inspired against the Batarians had been a weapon unto itself, as much a defense as it had been an offense, militiamen trembling in fear whenever one of their ilk approached. Sam remembered a few she had engaged practically sinking onto their knees in despair at the sight of an approaching Agent of the Council, and some of the ones she had struck or shot had hardly been effective as they quaked in fear. Yet that fear saved lives, that fear kept people like slavers and such in line, looking over their shoulders in worry, perhaps even preventing them from committing atrocities. Would… would Mindoir have happened if there had been a human SPECTRE, a warrior so great that the possibility of halting a slave raid existed, forcing them to turn back? Would more Marines be alive on Therum if she had been as armored and as well-equipped as the members of the Office of Special Tactics were, able to drive back foes like Pillars-Priests in equal or better terms? Weren't Agents the final arbiters of the law, the authority set above all others when all else failed? The line in the sand that should not be crossed? Humanity did not have such a champion, someone to protect and serve its people.

But it could.

"Nihlus?" The Turian looked at her, studying her eyes as she looked into his own oval green orbs surrounded by brown plates the color of chocolate, marked with the white paint of his colonial heritage as she nodded once, setting her path in stone.

"I'll do it."

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing this.

The basis of the fight was somewhere in between the plot of The Magnificent Seven and the final fight in A Fistful Of Dollars. As this is a cop story with a western bent, having a western-style feel to it went hand-in-hand with it. Western Movies were huge in early cinema, and even into the 70's you can still find classics featuring Clint Eastwood, while reminding us of legends such as James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok, Bat Masterson, Pat Garrett and Wyatt Earp, not to mention its villains such as Jesse James and Henry "Billy the Kid" McCarty (also… William Henry Bonney).

The SPECTREs I used were based off of individual Avengers. Yes, THOSE Avengers. Kya Drang was my version of the Black Widow, a hand-to-hand expert but also armed with a sniper rifle, with a tactical cloak/decoy combo. Jondum Bau was the Iron Spider (Civil War Spiderman) with the Energy Barrage from Dragon Age: Inquisition (seeker swarm), a 'haze' protocol, and the Indra. Elias Korvan was the Hulk in invulnerability, simply shrugging off shots with the barricade and assault turrets from Andromeda. Tela Vasir was Ms. Marvel/Warbird combo without the super strength or flight, using the Andromeda tactic I used most; assault-form Adapt Profile, Charge/Nova/Shockwave/Piranha/Sword. Nihlus Kryik was something in between Colonel Nick Fury and the Punisher, letting his weapons and tactics do the talking, armed with the Mulcher from _District 9_ (the lightning gun Wilkus uses). Abadexus Linaseus was the Scarlet Witch with the second Andromeda tactic I used most; defense-form Adapt Profile, Double-Pull/Throw/Lance/Sidewinder/Dodge, with a mix of the energy lashes of Anton Venko/Whiplash from Iron Man 2. Khal Burram was Thor… with a flamethrower. Sam Collins was WWII-Era Captain America, shield and gun, courage and audacity, minus the super-soldier serum.

Sam had a High Noon moment. I don't think I've mentioned this before but the Model 696 doesn't collapse into a carrying configuration; it stays the same way. So it has the ability to quick draw. Which is what I've always envisioned with the Smith and Wesson; a gunslingers' weapon.

The last few paragraphs are very similar to what I had written in _Mass Effect vs. Aliens: The Siege Of Hadley's Hope_ , Chapter 20: Lifestyle Determines Deathstyle, in which 2nd Lieutenant Jane "Janey" Shepard is offered to become Humanity's First SPECTRE in 2176. I've thought about what the Office of Special Tactics *could* be, and in my mind, I see Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six; a multinational organization of enforcers dedicated to stopping global threats that 'normal' military and law enforcement do not have the training, equipment, or authority to prevent, peopled by experts and the exceptional. I see a lot of parallels, and while the games did not go into any depth whatsoever what the SPECTRE Corps Organization might be like, I will take some liberty and license to create something that may fit the bill of an elite clandestine organization that is the arbiter of finality in concern of threats and disruptions towards peace.

This, officially, ends the War on Therum, and the next two chapters will wrap up the story, as well as bring closure.


	29. Libera Nos A Malo, IX

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, May 27 2175**

 _5 Days Later…_

Fleet Admiral Jon Virgil Grissom (ret.) stood from his deployment chair as the UT-40 Liberty-Class Transportation Insertion Vessel landed upon the landing pad of the Nova Yekaterinburg Spaceport, Marines already deploying out of the shuttle to escort him as he took to the tarmac, looking up to the red-tinted skies of Therum with a grimace, already hating this hellhole of a planet. He had retired early in the year, promising that he wouldn't leave Elysium for anything less than a declaration of war, but now here he was on one of the shittier Alliance colonies, feeling sweat popping out of his pores from the oppressive heat, trying to remind himself that it was _wintertime_ on this Godforsaken backwater of a dirt ball, and set himself ready to suffer what would probably be a long, hot day.

It was Memorial Day, after all; never a day for comfort.

He stood amidst his Marine Security Detail, ten men and women whom the lowest-ranking was a Corporal, and each and every one of them having gone through several courses pertaining to the training of Protection Security Detail; the school in which created those who guarded the higher-echelons of Systems Alliance personnel save for the President himself. In charge of them was an N7, a man that Jon had known for years, a dear friend who had come with him on this trip from the Citadel both to shoot the shit like old men would as well as to look upon the sight that was quickly growing into legend throughout all of Earth Alliance Space known as the Miracle of Therum. The social new media outlets had caught the story and let it spread like wildfire as people hinged upon the updates as they filtered in throughout the past few days as footage and confirmations came in through the lockdown'ed system, of a massive raid ten times worse than Mindoir stopped dead in its tracks by the bravery and courage of Systems Alliance Naval personnel, Marines, and the Marshal of Therum. The wildfire of news and rumors had caught the human populous by surprise, and the outpouring of sympathy and encouragement came in from all escorts of Human Space, yet none more so that the growing star of Marshal Samantha Collins. Humanity had its way of edifying its heroes, as Grissom was well-acquainted with, yet the media had ran with the story of this young woman who had done so much in such little time, a Marshal who had conquered slavery in different forms as well as leading the charge against an invading force that sought the worst things against those under her protection.

He was here for her, among other things.

Grissom walked the boulevard that lead through the Maul and towards the Market District, the sight of the conditions of No'burg a terrible one, an all-too familiar reminder of some of the conditions of the cities on Earth as he walked the dusty boulevard, one man walking by his side as the Marines walked in two columns. The citizenry of No'burg, still repairing damages caused by the Batarians and performing cleanup stopped what they were doing to gawk at him as he walked by, literally the most famous face in humanity. It said something that these common men and women would stop and stare at him, ceasing what they were doing no matter their walk in life. The N7 beside him chuckled, seemingly knowing his thoughts.

"You'd think after all these years, you'd have gotten use to it."

"Pfft." Grissom replied to Captain Alec Ryder (N7, SAN) as the two men walked together, heading deep into the colonial city. "Fame was never my thing, Alec. Just as it was never yours. I was a pilot, and a good one at that. Dreamers such as us don't need the accolades, just the budget to keep pushing forward."

"Indeed." Ryder replied simply, never a man to wax eloquently, a man of deeds and actions. "I am looking forward to meeting this Marshal, though. I admit that I would be hard pressed to find a way to do better than she."

"Agreed. A hell of a thing." The news of 'outside' assistance was well-known concerning the Turians' Twenty-Third and Twenty-Seventh Fleet assisting the Alliance Fourth Fleet and Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla in the retaking of Knossos Space, reliving the beleaguered Battle Group _Moctezuma_. Captain Rhys Llewellyn had managed to disable some ten percent of the Batarian Fleets' engines with a risky maneuver involving slingshot-ing a sun and landing 'behind' the fleet to release a salvo of rounds to cripple as many vessels as possible before Jumping away. Man was up for a Navy Cross, and well earned at that, as was Lieutenant Commander Patrick Sullivan, the late CO of the SSV _Charger_. Man had gone down crippling a Dreadnaught in a suicidal charge that would have had the Romans of old in awe, ramming the vessel and almost catastrophically killing it and damaging other ships as well from the resulting destruction of the _Charger_. There were to be a good many medals and awards to hand out pertaining to both the Battle of Knossos and the Battle of Therum; Captain Steven Hackett's' single-lined charge through the barricade at the Relay to fire full broadsides to come to the Battlegroup's aid would give him the Distinguished Service Medal, damaging a dozen ships in his drive through the blockade while engaging the Batarian Fleet while waiting for the Fourth Fleet, Twenty-Third Fleet, and Twenty-Seventh Fleet to arrive through the Relay, such mass translations taking time. The Tenth Reconnaissance had been in battle with the Batarians for a full three hours using hit-and-run tactics before reinforcements arrived and aided in the capturing of the Fleet, only some of the smaller vessels being destroyed before Marine and Hierarchy Boarding Parties breached the vessels and began pacifying the crews and capturing the ships. ONI, the Hierarchy Intelligence Services, and a more than a few others were going to have a heyday with the thought of a full Battle Fleet captured with a Dreadnaught and four Battleships to rape of intelligence, technology, tactics, and structural weaknesses.

The Batarian Minister of Peace (what a fucking joke) was crying long and hard about the legality of it, but was getting no traction from any government in Council Space.

The procession entered into the Market Square, where a good many Marines and Sailors were working through the opened space, with what looked to be a companies' worth of Turian overwatch stationed on the roofs of the Conex towers that made for the habitation units of No'burg, armed with Elanus Risk Control Services' M-15 Vindicators, dressed in Elanus Risk Control Services' Gladiator Armor, and appearing as if any wrongdoing would be absolutely obliterated. Systems Alliance Marines were working side-by-side with Sailors and volunteers in humanitarian efforts, helping the citizenry of No'burg by performing basic trauma care for those wounded during the short but brutal occupation of No'burg, mostly cleaning wounds and re-dressing them. Food was being distributed in an orderly fashion, and it looked like the populous was, for the most part, playing ball. No'burg had a sordid reputation, so the level of cooperation was good, in Grissom's mind. Didn't hurt that there were about a hundred Turians to shoot troublemakers on the spot.

As Grissom understood it, clearing operations had finally ended the day before with as many people accounted for as they were going to find and the remaining Batarians either captured or turned to paste by the Marines of the Fourth Fleet and Tenth Reconnaissance and the Hierarchy Hastist Squads of the Twenty-Third and Twenty-Seventh Fleets. All told, the Batarians had captured some nine hundred and thirty-four people and eighty-four executed to make an example for the captured. Out of a hundred and thirty thousand, those numbers were extremely low, considering. Unfortunately, the Naval Security Teams and the Marines of Battle Group _Moctezuma_ had been all but wiped out, numbering less than a hundred survivors out of seven hundred and fifty. Many platoons had fought to the very last man fighting against militiamen, SIU Agents, Heavy Krogan Infantry, and Pillars-Priests. They had died fighting hard in the name of Humanity, and on Memorial Day, they would be honored and remembered for their valiant sacrifice.

But first, he had a meeting to attend to.

Grissom and Ryder arrived at the Marshal's Office, finding a small line of citizenry waiting in line to have their issues addressed by a few Ensigns and Lieutenants of the Systems Alliance Navy and Marines while the procession was being watched over by a blonde woman that the Fleet Admiral immediately recognized, though he hadn't seen her in years. The woman in question spied him approaching her and Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino gave him a knowing smile as she saluted him quickly, and then stuck out her hand to shake, which he took.

"Good to see you again, Admiral. Captain." Val nodded to Ryder, who smiled as well, Shanxi Vets enjoying a little reunion. "Marshal said you would be arriving soon. She's inside writing condolence letters for the families of the Marines and Sailors who died here. Told her it wasn't her job, but…" The Master Chief shrugged, obviously having lost that battle. "Bunker's got A/C and coffee when you want to head inside."

"Much appreciated, Master Chief." Grissom looked to the N7, who merely nodded, electing to stay outside. "And be ready for yet another Navy Cross."

"Ugh. How're the twins?" Stacy asked Alec as Jon walked passed the line, people stopping and staring at him as he breezed by, his Security Detail remaining behind as well as he pushed through the access door and entered into the Office of the Marshal of Therum.

Sweet, sweet cool air hit him like a lover as Grissom's eyes adjusted to the interior lighting and found himself in a typical backwater law enforcement post manned by Sailors.

"ATTENTION ON DECK!" A loud voice belted out as a redheaded Petty Officer got everyone on their feet in a flash, the woman's bellow loud and proud enough to please any Non-Com as Grissom simple replied _as you were_ , getting the remaining members of the SSV _Canberra_ and _Charger's_ NST's back to their post as he turn his attention to the Chief who had called to attention. "I assume you're here to see Marse Collins, sir?"

"Yes, Chief." The Fleet Admiral replied, seeing on her Battle Duty Uniform that her name was 'Shepard'. "If you would?"

"Follow me, sir." The Non-Com replied as she led him through the 'lobby' and into the squad room, where he could see nine Navy MP's, one lone Marine Private, and about ten Navy Ops Alley service members in the squad room, all looking at him from the corners of their eyes while trying to work with after-action debriefing reports, if he overheard it correctly. There was a Senior Chief Petty Officer stalking the Squad Room, obviously overseeing the whole affair while a Marine Captain worked on a terminal, collating intelligence and actions of the Battle of Therum, and the sight of his name tag reading 'Meer' had him knowing of the man; the one that had ran Operations for the second half of the battle, collecting as much information about Batarian tactics possible while doing his best to direct a losing war in the face of defeat, never giving up or giving in. Captain Meer, too, was to be getting a Silver Star for his role in things, based upon the recommendations of the Marshal of Therum (the recommendation had been for a good award, the Marshal not knowing the different awards and thus had asked Grissom in a personal message for advise). The man had lost damn near his whole Battalion as a Company Commander, and yet there was no doubt in the Fleet Admiral's mind that a lesser man would have faltered. The Captain looked up from his work and gave Grissom a nod of respect, while the old man returned in a much more significant manner; he shook the man's hand, and praised him for his duty and efforts. Jon knew exactly how it felt to be in charge of a losing war (as _Operation: Repesnisum_ had been) but understanding that _losing_ did not necessarily entitle the blame towards the one commanding it. The exchange only lasted a moment, but Jon knew that for Captain Meer it would surely last a lifetime for him.

Chief Shepard went to the door of the Marshal, knocked on it three times, and opened the door for the Fleet Admiral, escorting him in.

"Marse? May I present to you Fleet Admiral Jon Grissom." The Petty Officer stood ramrod straight at attention as she spoke, like an enlisted member should when speaking to their Commanding Officer. Jon saw the Marshal of Therum and _Good fucking God Almighty_ was she young, sitting behind her desk with her fingers lifting from her Haptic keyboard as she typed away, standing immediately and moving around her desk to clasp his hand to shake. He knew that she wasn't even twenty yet, but seeing her in the flesh for the first time had struck him with the reminder of just how old _he_ was. He would be turning seventy-five this year, and seeing a slip of a girl old enough to be his _granddaughter_ just reinforced that nostalgic feeling, like how he once felt about Val after Shanxi, a seventeen year-old kid having survived a slaughter when he had dropped a Navy Cross around her neck for her actions in New Beijing. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"I think we'll be fine, Jane." The Marshal replied with a smile, and the Chief saluted her, exiting the office and closing the door behind her. The both of them took to their respective seats (his being in front of her desk meant for guests) as Collins waved away the holographic screen of her work to give him her full attention. "I'm finding writing condolence letters the worst aspect of this job."

"Funerals are the worst." Grissom replied, having been and officiated at _way_ too many. "No matter the reason, seeing men and women dying under your command, regardless how worthy the cause, only gives you a heavy heart. Never gets easier, either."

"I'll remember that." The young woman replied, nodding. "Sir, I…"

"This was my fault." Fleet Admiral Jon Grissom interrupted, having seen the shadows underneath the Marshal's youthful but haunted blue eyes, knowing that she was undoubtedly typing up letters for over six hundred Marines and eighty-plus Sailors. "My idea, my decision. We should have chucked the Jackal with Fourth Fleet and left it at that."

"There… was a device." Collins explained, looking troubled. "We didn't know what it was at the time, figuring it to be a Pulse Emmittance Device or a portable kinetic shield generator. It was really a biometric location transmitter designed to give the Jackal's location if he should ever be captured. If Fourth Fleet had taken him, I think the Batarians would have still come here and done what they did, Admiral. If the device _had_ gone to Fourth Fleet, then it would have been them in a space battle against a Fleet much larger than they." The Marshal looked thoughtful, her blue eyes dancing from side-to-side. "No, this was the _Batarians'_ fault, and obviously involves a significant portion of blame upon elements of the government, at the least their Ministry of Peace and Trade, I suspect. They made war for just one man; they committed a serious crime in his cause. I do not blame anyone here because we did not do anything wrong. I captured a criminal of the most despicable magnitude, and they sought to free him while committing atrocities. Had he been elsewhere?" The Marshal shook her head, her eyes reopening as they focused on him. "It could have been a lot worse. We could have had another Mindoir, and the Jackal would have been rescued. And the Lord only knows what he would have done to humanity in return at that point."

"A fair point." Grissom nodded, thinking over what the Marshal said. He couldn't find any flaws in her logic, obviously having thought it over herself. "Still, I want you to know that you did _well_ , Marshal. You've certainly cemented the reputation of the Marshal Services throughout Earth Alliance Space, as well as your own. They're probably going to affix your name next to the likes of Pat Garrett and Wyatt Earp." Both of those old-school frontier lawmen had been in charge of militias and Deputies in what would have been something close to a time of war in their reckoning; Pat Garrett and his Regulators eventually running down Billy the Kid and his gang, while Wyatt Earp and his posse tracked down the Clayton Gang. "Might want to get use to that notoriety."

"Joy." The young woman shook her head, obviously a little less than pleased with the thought. Good, it wasn't going straight to her head.

"But that's not why I'm here, Marshal, though I am glad I got the opportunity to bring it up to you so you wouldn't beat yourself up for something you weren't responsible for." The Fleet Admiral told her. "No, I'm here because of a certain opportunity that came to light a few weeks back between the Human Ambassador's Office and that of a Council diplomat authorized for negotiations on the possibility of a _human_ SPECTRE." Collins reoriented herself in her chair slightly, her eyes dancing for a second before ceasing. "Ambassador Doyle is keeping the retardation level low when it comes to the political parties and what-have-you's in both Parliament and EarthGov, doing her best to keep this under wraps. She's working on a solution that will have you work on the Citadel as a part of the Office of Special Tactics and whatever it is the Galactic Council has in mind while keeping you in a cover position that will have you work without having _more_ issues to deal with."

"Well, that is good." The Marshal mused, obviously seeing the necessity of it. She might not be a political animal, but she certainly had a mind for such things. "How will we do that?"

"Essentially?" Jon smiled, a real one this time. "You're getting reassigned with the Alliance Federal Marshal Services to its newest post… on the Citadel itself." That had her blue eyes opening wide at the thought. "That's right. The Alliance is getting an official jurisdiction on the Citadel, and you are going to be in charge of it as a fully-invested _Federal_ Marshal." Frontier Marshals were Marshals in charge of posts throughout Alliance Space, serving their jurisdictions with Deputies under them. Federal Marshals, on the other hand, were the hunters and bloodhounds of Earth Alliance Space… and beyond. The Systems Alliance Constitution stated that the Marshals had jurisdiction wherever humans lived, worked, traveled, and worshipped. This clause, while not officially sanctioned through the Citadel's Foreign Relations Bureau, gave license for Federal Marshals to chase down criminals practically anywhere in the galaxy if they so desired (and wished to deal with the repercussions). To have a Marshal's Office on _foreign_ territory was saying a great deal, especially if the Citadel was the territory in question. It would also provide Collins the perfect cover for being a SPECTRE; Federal Marshals were known for hunting down escaped criminals and prisoners, and would give credence for her work. If Frontier Marshals had the reputation of being badass cowboy cops, then Federal Marshals had the reputation of being hard-boiled _relentless_ badass cowboy cops. Having a SPECTRE who was a Federal Marshal would be the perfect fit, her cover allowing her to travel practically anywhere for a variety of reasons without exposing herself as a human SPECTRE. As he understood it, 'public' SPECTREs were of another echelon all together, and were almost always a target for corruption and assassination. Collins didn't need that kind of threat.

"A Federal Marshal…" The young woman frowned. "You do realize that I inherited this job by arresting my asshole boss, right?"

"And you did ten times more in a month than Weathers did in years." Grissom reminded her. "I talked to the Director of Marshal Services, and there will be a Frontier Marshal who will run the day-to-day affairs of the Office for you during your… extracurricular activities. Your main responsibility will be its inception, the hiring of Deputies, and Systems Alliance Customs and Immigration. Essentially, you will be the font of authority for all of mankind when it comes to the Citadel."

"Joy." That one actually had her chuckling though. "When will this begin?"

"Couple of weeks from now, when Doyle's done hammering out the details and making the Turian Councilor cringe." Jon replied with a lop-sided smile. "I won't lie, Marshal; you're walking into a shitstorm that will make No'burg look like a Goddamn Sunday stroll in the park. Here? You're top dog. There?" He just shook his head. "Be prepared to ice-skate uphill."

"At least they'll have air-conditioning." That had Grissom bark out a laugh.

"But in all seriousness, kiddo… you will have a fucking long, hard-ass road in front of you." The Fleet Admiral warned her. "Just being a Marshal on the Citadel has it's own pitfalls, but you're going to be permanently there. Your notoriety might be useful, but I don't doubt your first year is going to be a gagglefuck of 20-plus hour days of tedious bullshit mixed with sprinkles of worst-case scenarios and dollops of migraine-inducing problems. And that's just the Marshal part. God help me if I know what the SPECTRE part will be like."

"I… have some friends." The Marshal admitted, looking a little cautious. "I might need their help."

"I don't doubt it. I'd expect you to use them when you can as much as you can, because you're a double-pioneer." Grissom explained, making the young woman nod thoughtfully. "I'll have BuPers send a few dossiers of people that might be of use to you, as well as the Marshal Services, but ultimately who you want in the Marshal's Office will be up to you and you alone. The Director of Marshal Services already knows that you will be… more-or-less hands-off." While Collins wasn't exactly a SPECTRE yet, and may not be for some time, she still needed the defense in order so that she could do her job, or train for it. Without being obvious about it, Grissom and a few others had orchestrated a separate little buffer around the Marshal so that she could operate with independence and without oversight. She was going to need it. "I also recommend a person or two from ONI, and perhaps the GBI. Having a few bones to throw will give you some help later on when you need to call in favors, so don't be afraid to hand out a few olive branches now when everyone will be too impressed with the offer before realizing that they'll be signing onto a practical post in political hell."

"Isn't that the truth?" Collins obviously watched Alliance News Network, where some of the civil unrest that was mired deep in the Human Wards would be highlighted. No, she wouldn't have an easy job at all.

* * *

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino stood on top of the roof of the Marshal's Office, looking over the Market Square as she smoked an Elysium Gold Label Churchill while leaning against the railing. The memorial service for the men and women who had died in the defense of No'burg was over, officiated by none other than Fleet Admiral Jon Grissom himself, in full view of the Marines, Sailors, citizenry, and even the Turians helping keeping security. The service had been a tearful one as Val watched her own Naval Security Team commemorated for their actions, fifteen of her MP's now dead. She had thought she wouldn't have to bury any of her own men anymore, but the Batarians had proven her wrong.

"It was a good service for your kin."

Val turned slightly to see a Turian in black-and-red armor standing behind her, his helmet off so that she could see his chocolate brown faceplates and white colonial markings decorating his face. Green oval-like eyes looked upon her as he stood a respectful distance away, one of his arms in a sling from where he had been shot by a Batarian State Arms Hishock Harpoon Gun. Stacy snorted as she turned back to look out in the Square, taking another puff of her cigar.

"Buried too many of our people, Kryik, buried too many of _my_ people." The Master Chief replied, her tone near dead as she looked to the damages caused in the Battle of Therum. Conex walls were littered with bullet strikes, and there were still scorch marks upon the red-brown dirt in the Square from grenades and explosions. It would be years before No'burg went back to _its_ level of normality. "Dying for the cause is all well and good, but then you get to remembering that each and every one of the was a son or a daughter, a brother or a sister, had friends and loved ones. Think their families wouldn't trade every accolade and praise for just one more moment to hold them in their arms?"

"I know." The Turian admitted as he moved to stand besides her, looking out into the scene below, seeing people milling about in their destinations, going about their business. There were now more uniforms than there had ever been, Sailors and Marines from Battle Group _Moctezuma_ , the Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla, and Fourth Fleet earning themselves some Liberty and a chance to get off their ships, even if it were on a planet as hot as Therum. No doubt the bars were enjoying the hard-Credit business. "Does Sam know?"

"No." Stacy looked to the Turian, frowning. "That wasn't exactly our best day, was it?"

"No, it wasn't." The Blackwatch member replied, obviously going down memory lane to that day almost five years before. "For what it's worth, I am sorry. I was misled by someone I trusted, someone who wanted me to do just that and knew how to make me do it."

"You know, when I was typing away on that message," Val began, taking another puff, "I wondered if it was you. Didn't know your first name, but it made me wonder. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. I let my own misgivings about your kind get the better of me, made me stupid and brash." Stacy snorted as she looked back out, seeing Knossos slowly dipping into the horizon. "I've know soldiers and warriors, the brave and the coward, the strong and the foolish, and yet I've never met anything quite like her." The Master-at-Arms shook her head as she smiled slightly, thinking of the young woman who was probably still diligently at work in her office, never ceasing. "You told me once that it would take someone unique to make a human SPECTRE, and I dare say that Sam fits the bill in more ways than one. She's… special, in a league of her own. Therum has tested her and tried her hard, Kryik, and she came out on top. But she's not like you and me; she's still young for our species, still a little unsure. Just… be there for her, okay?"

"I will." The SPECTRE promised.

"Good." Stacy turned and took two steps and damn near smashed her face into his towering one as she made it up-close-and-personal. "Because if I find out otherwise, Agent? I'm going to snap your fucking backplate over my knee and make Taetrus look like a fucking caress once I'm done tap-dancing on your ass. We clear, _SPECTRE_?"

"Three by three." The Turian replied, not amused, but not arguing it, either. Good.

"Good." The Master Chief took a step back and returned to her post at the railing, taking another hit of her stogie. "It's… good to see you again, Agent, circumstances notwithstanding. Can't turn back the clock, but perhaps we can reset it and start again."

"It's Nihlus." The Turian replied, holding out his left set of talons. "Nihlus Kryik."

"Stacy Valentino." She shook his hand in the Turian fashion, clasping arms instead of hands. "I imagine we might actually bump into each other once or twice considering, so we might as well get it off on the right foot."

"How did the human saying go? Oh yes," Nihlus flicked his talons together once, a rude gesture amongst Turians, "at least I get to keep the hatchlings in the divorce."

"Why do Turians think they're fucking comedians?"

* * *

Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins had finally finished the condolence letters for the men and women who had served under her, the memorial now hours over as a knock on her door brought to her attention Captain Marc Meer, the Marine looking at her with a coolly professional gaze as she saved the work she was doing and turned her attention to him. Despite the somewhat wrong foot they had started off with at the beginning of the battle, they had buried that hatchet afterwards and she found Marc to be the epitome of a Marine Officer; strong, brave, smart, and loyal. He had finally told her of his original reservations of her, and she had to concede that he was right to think such things, though she didn't necessarily think of her self as a hothead. Then again, considering some of the events she had been through, she could certainly see why someone would think that way.

"Marc." Sam nodded in familiarity as she offered him a seat in front of her desk, in which he took. "I heard that you were selected to escort the Jackal to Alliance authorities with Fourth Fleet, being escorted by the Turians. You deserve recognition for your work and efforts, and at the very least, you'll get to watch that son of a bitch hang."

"I'll get you a copy." The Marine replied with a smile. "But that's not why I'm here, Marse. I've come to clue you in onto something, something you might be needing in the future." That had Collins frown; only a very few people knew that she would be going to the Citadel, and even fewer still why. "I… have a confession to make to you, Sam.

"I'm Cerberus."

"Wai… what?" The Marshal felt her jaw drop at the confession. Who the hell admitted that they were a part of a terrorist organization that had assassinated political figures, bombed clubs, and claimed responsibility for many more atrocities. Cerberus was a pro-human organization that had come to light after the First Contact War, a supposed Alliance Black Ops program that had went rogue and operated without discretion or dependency of the Systems Alliance and EarthGov. "You're… telling me this? Why?" Standing orders was to arrest anyone thought to be in any one of a number of extremist organizations, in which Cerberus was one of them.

"I got an EN-mail from one of… a source." The Captain replied, shrugging his shoulders, obviously not giving up all the goodies, so to speak. "They wished for me to try and recruit you. I… expressed that you didn't really fit the proper psychological profile, considering how Nico Dekker supposedly tried to bribe you in this very office and look where that got him."

"Astute. And true." Sam frowned at the admission, and the reason behind it. Meer wasn't confessing to her… he was _warning_ her. He admitted to being in Cerberus so that she would take him seriously, so that she would understand. He was sticking his neck out for her, then. "Proper psychological profile?"

"That's… how they found me." Meer shrugged again, his face… resigned. "It's not like they came out and told me what I was signing up for. It was a outreach program for impoverished children living in Neo York City, where I scrapped by as a orphan and a runaway." Collins sat back and listened, knowing that Marc was very intelligent, and that he was making a point that she would need to heed. She gave him her full attention. "At first, it was just a social worker offering me the chance to pull myself out of the slum, to work with an organization that would give me food, lodgings, employment, and the chance of a future. I took it, obviously." The Marine shrugged. "They cleaned me up, fed me, even put me through classes to educate me. I would do jobs for them for a nice stack of Credits, and none of them were… 'obvious'; running messages, watching a person's house to see if they were home or not… low-level stuff. Did that until I was eighteen when a man came to me with an offer that was out of this world in my mind; a chance to really be something."

"Military Academy?" Sam asked, thinking that she was starting to see where this was going.

"Yes." Marc nodded. "Four years in, and I went from an Associate to an Agent. They invested into me and my career, and I've done well, Sam. Not meteoritic, but very close. Fast-track, first pick, great assignments. All I had to do was keep faith and achieve success in what I was told to do." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I fit the profile, being some slum kid with nothing to lose. I can only imagine how many Officers there are _just… like… me._ " That had the Marshal's blood run cold, realizing that _this_ was the point. He was giving her a warning, a warning about who to trust. "About a year or so back, when I became a Captain," he continued, "I was given lists of people who did fit that profile, people to recruit into the 'Organization'." He air quoted the term; evidently Associates and Agents didn't call it 'Cerberus'. "My orders were to make new Associates within my own Company, to build up our numbers with those who wished to be… our sword and shield." Meer grimaced for a moment. "Every single one of the names that came up were brand-new Corporals, beginning Non-Coms. And when one knows what to look for? One can find someone who fits that profile."

"Fast-track, first pick, great assignments." Sam said, nodding her head. "Those with little to fall back on?"

"Yes. And you fit, I assume." The Captain shrugged. "I know that you're a Shanxi orphan, but I don't think the Organization wastes its time with nobodies. You put yourself on the map, and now they are sending out feelers to see if you can be a potential recruit. I only told you because if you're not with us…"

"Then they'll see me as against them." Collins nodded, getting Meer to nod as well. "I take it members of the military won't be the only ones?"

"Extremely doubt it." Marc answered, looking at her in her eyes. "Businessmen, politicians, scientists… law enforcement agents." Yes, a corrupt office would be perfect for an organization that wanted to be kept in the dark. Sam knew all too well how powerful of a tool that could be. Now that she was expected to open a brand-new office on the Citadel itself… she would have to look extra carefully at such signs. Marc Meer was far from being a stupid man, and he was giving her as much warning as he could without breaking faith with an organization that would probably punish him accordingly if they discovered his lapse. "Just… keep an eye open, Marse. You've done great for humanity on your own two feet, and I hate for someone shortsighted and less-than-ideal to take that away. I'm rather fond of our debates." There was a small smile on his lips, now; a first. It was obvious that he respected her.

"Thank you for your time and… your insight." Sam stood up and offered the man her hand, in which he stood and shook it. Despite what he had told her about his affiliations, she would honor that trust and respect. "I hope it won't come to pass, but I know what to look for now."

"Good." Marc nodded his head. "I think you've got a busy future in front of you, Marse. I, for one, will be looking forward to seeing it."

* * *

Marine Private Blake Bell turned in, having been invited to the Container, Housing Unit of Seaman Apprentice Katarina 'Solo' Solodenke, the Russian woman leading him to her temporary domicile as day slowly turned to night on Therum. It had been a long five days since the end of the Battle of Therum, and each of those days had ended with him sharing Solo's bed, the seventeen year-old woman bringing him with her. There were, of course, rumors about what was going on in the CHU (and yeah, those were true) but there was more to it than that. Both of them had suffered a rather terrible ordeal, both with the eradication of Andromeda Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, and the aftermath of the Battle itself. Solo had been devastated to find many of her friends and comrades dead upon returning to the Marshal's Office, and Blake had held the weeping woman that first night as she grieved for them. She had returned the favor when he had gone to work the next day… but having nowhere to go. Marse Collins had included him in with the remaining Naval Security Team members, having him working with Senior Petty Chief Officer Royce Abraham Mason, running errands and helping out in ways as the MP's kept an eye on him for the most part. Chief Shepard had pulled him to one side a few days ago and had handed to him a collection of dog tags of his platoon mates, wondering if there were any he wished to keep. Each Marine and Sailor was given two; one for identification, and one as a spare. It had been a long tradition that the 'spare' would generally go to a platoon mate or someone else close as a memorial so that the person in question would 'continue on' as it were. Blake had taken the tags of Corporal Ernesto Mananas and Lance Corporal Antonio Vargas with shaky hands, looking at them and feeling so guilty. Jane had sat him down and let him talk, giving him the chance to vent and grieve as she spoke of her own experiences as being a survivor of Mindoir; one of a very few who had escaped capture and enslavement. She too had suffered survivor's guilt, having watched her father getting captured and taken away, and she helped him by going through with him the exercises she once gone through. She made him promise to get the help he needed, making sure that for the time being he knew he wasn't alone.

Damn if he never thought that the Sailors would take him in as one of their own.

Both Blake and Katarina laid upon the bed of her CHU, the holovision monitor on as they wanted one of the Armed Forces Network channels, seeing regular shows with military-oriented commercials in between. Solo was laying half-on, half-off of him as his arm supported her head as they just enjoyed something simple and pedestrian as laying side-by-side and watching HV. He found himself looking over to Katarina, looking at the profile of her face. She was a cute girl, that was true, but he found himself really looking at her without getting into any foreplay or clothes-ripping action.

"Hey." He said to her, getting Solo's attention as he looked into her warm brown eyes, seeing her full lips smile at him as she looked at him with a little curiosity.

"Yes?" She just laid there smiling at him, expecting him to explain himself.

"I love you."

That got a reaction, to be sure.

"You… do?" Katarina shifted around a little so that she was facing him instead of just turning her head, looking at him with her full attention after muting the HV. "I mean… that came out wrong. I… didn't think that this was going to last, and I wanted to enjoy it as much as I could. I…" Solo bit her lower lip and she looked downward for a moment in thought, then back up at him. "You do care for me? Not some Port Wife to have a fling with between ship-out dates?"

"No, Kat. I care about you, I do." Blake replied as he slipped a hand around her curved waist, feeling how it dipped in before belling out to her hips. His hand rubbed that convex curve, admiring it. He was really admiring the fact that would allow him to do this with her. He had joined at sixteen to get his Mom the medical benefits she needed to pay or the rising cost of medication and treatments to combat her Multiple Sclerosis. Katarina had joined to get away from her father. She hadn't said anything more than that. She hadn't needed to. "You've seen me cry and you're still here. That's certainly saying something."

"And you've been here with me, too, never judging or pushing." The Russian woman smiled, and it was then her face truly became beautiful, lighting up. "You give me the time and space that I need, and the comfort and support I want. You… are worth giving it a try, Blake." A gentle hand went to his chest as she rubbed one of his pecs. "I… have a hard time saying it, and a harder time feeling it… but I think I'm falling in love with you, too."

Blake replied that response by pulling her in for a kiss, feeling her lithe body pressing into his own as he held her close and tight, his lips pressing into her own as she gave off soft noises in her throat as he did. His hands roamed over the lithe figure of her body as she reciprocated, the two teenagers quickly losing themselves to their passions, the HV forgotten as a report came on about the Battle of Therum.

* * *

Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard practically dashed her way towards the CHU's set behind the Marshal's Office, heading towards the one that was Marshal Collins'. The wet CHU was set at the ground level, and was literally the first one available as the Chief moved to the door, all smiles. Nighttime had descended upon No'burg, and the temperature had dropped from oppressive to merely unbearable as the redhead knocked on the door excitedly, her smile bright enough to light the way. The door opened a moment later, revealing Sam dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt, looking at her with a smile that turned into a look of surprise, noticing Jane's mood.

"Sam!" The Chief practically pounced the Marshal as she wrapped her arms around Collins' neck, laughing in joy as she hugged Sam fiercely. "I got in! I can't believe it but I got _in!_ "

"Got into what?" The younger woman asked as she pushed the redhead back slightly to look into her face, her blue eyes dancing back and forth. "Need context here."

" _The Military Academy!_ " Shepard replied, explaining it to the Marshal as she beamed in happiness. "When we get to our E-6 and we have certain qualifications, there's a possibility for us to sign up for the Blue-to-Gold program and _I got it!_ I'm going to college to become an Officer!"

"Jane! That's great news!" The brunette replied, pulling the taller woman in for a hug just as fierce as the one she received from Shepard not a moment before. "I didn't know you were trying for that."

"I signed up after I made my PO1." Jane explained as she looked down at Sam as they held each other, who was beaming. "I… wanted to do it, to go to college and be an Officer, to be a part of something that would make a difference. And…" Jane felt a little stab of melancholy at the thought of what that entailed, "I was approved of a couple days ago. I just got the MilPer Message in my eMil-Box." Blue-to-Gold was a big thing; most Mustangs were fast-tracked to Lieutenant Commanders for their experiences as Non-Coms, and graduating in the top ten percent usually came with an automatic invitation to the N Course in Rio. This was a big step in her career, in what she wanted.

"Then why do you look sad?"

"I…" How was she suppose to explain it to Sam, explain what this would mean? Normal approval for the Blue-to-Gold Program was generally a year, and yet Jane had gotten approval in four months time. She had made her E-6 at the beginning of the year, and had filled out the forms in February. In that time, she had fought in a short-scale war and found something that made her happy. Now… that would be over. "Sam, you know the military's stance on same-gender relationships."

"I do." Collins' face fell a little. "If you go to Military Academy, they won't tolerate such things as they might now."

"They wouldn't tolerate it now, but neither Val or Mason really care." Jane explained, grateful that she had gotten a chance. "But I got lucky in that regard. If I get my Commission… the expectation level goes up a lot higher, and the tolerance level gets dropped significantly." Her heart was twisting on the inside as she looked into those dancing blue eyes, seeing emotion growing within them, an emotion she never water to bring to Sam; sadness.

It was cruel, to have something taken away as such for something that matter so much to her, to finally have found something of worth that she always wanted. Jane had been with other women before, but for the most part those had merely been casual flings and one-time deals mostly to satisfy her own carnal wants, Port-Wives and Liberty Ladies that she had to snag from the Jaws of Manliness as male Sailors and Marines went and fucked everything willing on two legs. Sam... Sam was different though. Sam wasn't some one-time fling that Jane ended with her usual ' _I should go_ ' routine the next morning, or some week-long Liberty Pass bedwarmer that she pretend mattered to her with lies of endearment. Sam wasn't some random woman who was looking to jump into bed with some Sailor or Marine on the hopes one of them was dumb enough to think it was love and marry her so she could reap on the benefits. Sam hadn't been the one to make the first more, or even to indicate that she was interested in such a thing. Jane had, because she saw something there, something different, something... exciting. The redhead hadn't acted much different than the guys when it came to coaxing women into sleeping with her, alcohol and psychological pressure usually working well enough. The brunette made her feel different though, made her want to do it right, make it something of worth. Ever since the end of the Battle of Therum, she had spent her nights with Sam in ways that were both willing and satisfying, both showing and demonstrating the younger woman how to please and satisfy.

But it was more to it than that. Her nights weren't filled with just lust-filled pleasure sex.

When Sam wasn't working her job (and Goddamn that girl could put in some hours!) she was reading on subjects that interested her, studying and learning either on new subjects that intrigued her, or enhancing on what she already knew. She was a voracious reader that enjoyed the classics and disdained pulp media, and often had classical music playing in the background as she curled in with a datapad to read. She possessed a mind that was both in-depth and ceaseless, and after a jaw-dropping friendly debate that they had together about current politics after some story featured on ANN about a Terra Firma rally on Earth, Jane realized just how damn smart Sam Collins was. She possessed a keen mind fueled by her Autistically-savant condition that saw things that no one else seemed to see, grasping innuendos and observations that were daunting. She didn't seem to possess the same furors and ideals that most people seemed to have, caring less about what was popular or in-demand and instead focusing on the foundations of a cause and the worthiness of endeavors. Sam had no use for social media networks and barely seemed aware of the existence of Facebook or Twitter, believing them to be temporary opiates for the people to placate them with nonsense, distracting them from real issues and real work to fix problems instead of coming up with less-than-intelligent memes as a solution. It made Shepard feel guilty that she was a bit of a Facebook junkie herself, and saw what Sam was eluding to; all those hours scanning Facepages and looking up dumb pictures with dumber quotes could have been time she could have been learning and improving upon herself. Jane could have been working on correspondence courses or even logging into an online college, taking courses to better herself. When they had talked about sociological issues of the fine line that law enforcement agents walked between peace and security, Jane had her mind blown the fuck away as Sam listed examples throughout history between poor law enforcement in which civility faltered and the people became savage things in the frontiers of the old American West, to totalitarian police-states where the populous seethed under oppression, often violently under dictator regimes that promised freedom but practiced tyranny. She didn't have a bucket list of Netflix shows to catch-up on, nor did she have subscriptions through gaming accounts or MMORPGs. Sam was an intellectual creature, one that believed in God and duty. If Sam was said to have any kind of distraction, it was the Earth Urban Competitive Combat League, her favorite team being the New Beijing Hoplites. _Those_ she watched with fervor.

Jane realized quickly that she didn't deserve this magnificent creature. Not by a long shot.

"Hey." Sam pulled her away from her pain as Jane looked into those eyes, and seeing them zeroed onto her own, staring at her intensely. She knew what that meant now; her mind was made, no longer seeking an answer or information. "If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth it."

"Ah, another quote from the great and wise philosopher Sam Collins." Jane smiled, mildly teasing the brunette as she chuckled, amazed by the simplicity of it. It was true, wasn't it? An easy goal was a poor goal. If she wanted something of value or worth, it would be a struggle to obtain it, the fight worth the reward. Military Academy wouldn't be easy, which made getting her Commission something she _wanted_ because of that challenge. And the reward was worth it, right? She would be an Officer, a decision-maker in which days were set by her command, and battles hinged on her decisions. And that was what she wanted. Her goal of being a Non-Commissioned Officer had her pushing herself to be better than her peers, being the kind of Military Police Officer that was both determined and tough, and she had gotten to her rank at a rather meteoric rate, through hard work and shining performance reviews. So she was stuck with two choices, two things that she wanted badly; the proverbial Catch-22. She was at that fork in the road that poets were always talking about; would she pick the career that she wanted and had been working towards, or would she pick her heart and the woman who was finding a permanent occupancy in it? It wasn't fair; she wanted both, and she knew choosing one would likely lose the other forever. Jane _wanted_ to become an Officer, to earn her Commission and strive to be better. She _wanted_ this rare and beautiful creature that stood in front of her, who looked at her with kind and caring eyes, that stood by her side through the worst of times. The future, as always, was a mystery, and Jane found herself _hating_ the fact that the choice had come now; a few months in either direction, and who was to say if she would have even bothered worrying.

"Go. I know you want this."

"Sam…" Jane began, but younger woman indicated that she wasn't done.

"I know that you want this because I can see it within you." The Autistic woman smiled at her, a real one that had meaning. "You've worked for this, you've strove for this, and to deny it to you would be a crime. Go to the Academy and prove it to yourself that you are worthy. I have no doubt in my mind, but I know that you need it, that you want it." The younger woman took a deep breath. "I… will wait for you."

"Sam, you… you are one of the most amazing people I've ever met." Jane replied, stumped at the reply the younger woman had given her. "You're smart as hell, tough as hell, and I don't doubt that you're going to do as many amazing things as you have already done. Me? I'm not that smart. I'm really not much more than a thug with a MP's badge, using intimidation and force to get what I need done. I'm a whole host of traumas and fears I've never really gotten over from Mindoir, and I've… I've done more than a few things I'm not exactly proud of." Jane had to close her eyes, the confession hurting. She didn't want Sam to know the truth because she didn't want to lose her, didn't want to hurt her. "How is it you think I deserve you?"

"You were the first to try." Sam replied, slipping closer to embrace her. "To try and understand, to let me be me as oppose to being something else. You… accepted me, as I accept you." Jane hummed at that, feeling Sam's head resting against her shoulder as she held the younger woman close, enjoying the feel of their bodies close together. "Besides, I was promised a ravishing. It's tradition."

"What!" Shepard felt her jaw drop. Did Sam just make a joke? The room spun quickly and the redhead found herself being tossed into Sam's bed, the younger woman having wrapped her arms around her waist and levered her in a gentle throw that had Jane on her back, laying on the mattress as Sam towered over her now, a sloppy smile on her face. The brunette mounted the bed slowly as she crawled on hands and knees on top of Jane Shepard, her face moving above hers as she assumed the dominate position, her intent loud and clear.

" _Mine."_ Sam said, looking right into Jane's green eyes, the smile growing broader as she lowered herself onto the redhead, Jane opening her thighs and feeling Sam slipping in between. "And I'm willing to wait."

"It's like… almost two years." Jane warned her, knowing that long-distance relationships were difficult at best. And she herself hadn't exactly been a saint when it came to going out and partying. "I wasn't exactly being celibate before I met you, Sam." Jane admitted painfully, wishing she didn't, but she needed Sam to know that she had made mistakes in the past and she might even do so in the future. "I might fuck up, Sam." Those words came out as a whisper, painful yet true. She was a bit of a slave to her carnal needs. "I might get drunk and stupid and _I don't want to hurt you_." She truly didn't deserve this magnificent creature that hovered above her, that looked at her with love and desire. "I can't ask you to do that for me, Sam, not when… not when I can't honestly make that kind of promise in return because I know how I've been."

"I know, and I understand." The younger woman replied softly as those blue eyes stayed on her own, no ceaseless movements that indicated her hypercalculic mind was hard at work. Instead they were still, intense, staring into her own. Her mind was made, and it wouldn't be changed even if the heavens and earths were moved. "I love you, Jane Catherine Shepard of Mindoir. And I will wait for you if you wish to have me."

That… was the first time either one of them had said the 'L' word. The sound of it had Jane's heart shivering, and she felt… content, complete. She knew it wasn't something said lightly, and she knew Sam would forgive her if she messed up, if she struggled. Jane was determined to prove to herself to this woman, to this beautiful creature that was willing to give her that chance, something she hadn't earned or deserved. She would earn it, the redhead decided, looking into those blue eyes and tried to match their determination with her own green orbs as she pulled her in for a kiss with both passion and promise. She would earn this woman who had made her cast caution to the wind, who seemed to have slipped into her life and made it worthwhile. The next words she said, she meant them.

"And I love you, Samantha Lynn Collins of Shanxi."

* * *

Author's Note: LTC Virgil Ivan 'Gus' Grissom (NASA, USAF) was a Mercury Astronaut, the second American to fly in space, the first American to orbit Earth twice, and tragically killed during a routine pre-flight test, along with two other members of the Apollo 1 when a spark in the crew compartment ignited the 100% Oxygen atmosphere, no emergency release lever invented for the crew hatch door, trapping them inside. Jon Grissom was named after this pioneer and explorer, one of the Mercury Seven (watch 'The Right Stuff' for a quick synops, great movie).

BuPers – The Systems Alliance Navy Bureau of Personnel, or what we in the Army called 'the Needs of the Army'. I stole this from LogicalPremise's stories 'Of Sheep and Battle Chicken' and his entire slue of addendums and sequels. I'm pretty certain the US Navy or the English Navy have something close to this name, though I don't know for certain.

MilPer Message – Anyone in the United States Armed Forces have seen this either in their e-mails or around their units. Military Personnel Messages are a wide variety of essential but non-emergency related updates, such as orders, recent updates, and general fill-ins and –check-the-boxes messages.

Batarian Ministries - For those who have read George Orwell's great book 1984, you will recognize some of these Ministries, such as Peace and Truth. Double-plus ungood.

Hastism/Hastist Squads - In the Turian Culture, a Hastism is described as the Squads sent to accept surrenders from the opposing force, calling out and giving an advanced time limit for the enemy to come forth, lay down their arms, and turn themselves in. When this time line expires, they go in and obliterate _everything_ still remaining in the area, whether they are armed or not, or are combatants or not. This is Canon.

Signal-to-Noise Ratio - If you ever hear 'Five by Five' as a response, this is a signal to noise ratio back during early military radio communications in World War I and II. It means the strength of the signal (1 through 5) to the listener able to hear it (again, 1 to 5). For a Turian with their three-fingered hands, they number things in powers of three while we do better in fives and tens.

Wait? Nihlus and Stacy worked together once? I mentioned in _Libera Nos A Malo, III_ that Stacy had worked with a Turian SPECTRE before. Nihlus was that SPECTRE. But… what were they doing together at the time? The story will slowly become known.

Captain Marc Meer - Earth-born biography… and an Agent of Cerberus. I always wondered how Cerberus would recruit people, so I came up with some ideas, like psychological profiles, as well as people in positions of significance to be used. Entreating beginning Non-Coms make sense, as being a Sergeant/Corporal/PO3/SArM gives you a certain degree of trust and responsibility, unlike lower Enlisted Members. And we'll be seeing more of Meer later on. Rationally, I like this version of Meer, unlike the hulking sack of shit that I made Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer in the 'Hale/Meer Chronicles'.

Blue-To-Gold Program – If an Enlisted Member is accepted to go into OTC _after_ enlisting not as an Officer but as a lower ranked member, the US Army has the 'Green-to-Gold' program that usually involves command approval from an O-6 (Colonel), and a certain amount of aptitude. I assume the Navy has a similar program, as would the Air Force and the Marines (thought Marines go to Naval Academy with Navy Officers). I don't know what it's called, so I used the color of the Alliance uniform (Blue) to the color of the first Commissioned Officer rank (gold, which is reverse of what one might think, since an O-1 has a gold rank, but an O-2 ha a silver rank). FYI, the ranks for Officers might have different names, but they all use the same rank shapes, sequences, and colors in the same order throughout the entire service; gold bar, silver bar, silver pause button, gold oak leaf, silver oak leaf, the eagle, and then stars. Only the US Navy/Coast Guard has different names, while the Marines, Air Force, and Army use the same names (2nd Lieutenant, 1st Lieutenant, Captain, Major, Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel, Brigadier General, Major General, Lieutenant General, and then General General ((yes, seriously)). For the Navy/CG, it is Ensign, Lieutenant (junior grade), 1st Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander, Commander, Captain, Rear Admiral (lower half), Rear Admiral (upper half), Vice Admiral, and then Admiral. There are no '5-Star' ranks today, and the last was during the Korean War, as it is a special rank during times of massive war (like World War I and II, when there are multiple theaters of operations). The War on Terror is considered a singular theater of operation, as the physical numbers of military personnel was nowhere near the amount of men of those wars. I want to say that there were in more men in Korea and Vietnam for the most part with a few exceptions (such as the Surge or perhaps post-Tet 68) but I don't know for certain.

Port-Wives, Liberty-Ladies, And Other Euphemisms - There are a _ton_ of names pertaining to hunt of the elusive one-night stand in the military, and the people that participate in it. Barracks-Boppers and Cot-Cowgirls were generally oriented to those stateside, while Desert Wives and Turnstiles were more for deployment ('Turnstiles', btw, were girls whose doors were just that). I've heard a few Navy and Marine-oriented ones, and tried using them. Yes, they are sexist and not very nice. On the other hand... there are a whole host of females who jump right into that game, so... 50/50 blame.

I determined when I first decided to use Chief Shepard (which she wasn't slated at all originally, and took a good deal of deciding to include her) how she would end up being the Commander Shepard we know. One reader determined that there wasn't enough time for a PO1 to make the rank of Commander in just 8 years, so I bent the rules slightly. The Blue-to-Gold Program is a real program in the United States Navy that qualified applicants among the Enlisted Members are sent to college in an ROTC program in which they will receive their Commissions. Because of her prior service, she will skip the first rank (O-1, Ensign) and be Commissioned as a Lieutenant (junior grade). She will automatically qualify for the N-Course due to her scores, as this is how SEAL Officers, Ranger Officers in the Army, and generally all SF Officers are procured (and I think we'll know how that goes), and it is determined that N-level warriors get the best assignments while having the highest expectations for. Someone like this would be fast-tracked. Plus, technically a Lieutenant Commander is still called 'Commander', and the Executive Officer of a WWII-style Frigate or even a Submarine can be a Lieutenant Commander, as an O-4 is usually found in an Operations role or an Executive Officer role in a Battalion/Squadron. This concept is a little bit of a mix of WWII-era, current era, and Mass Effect.

Mustang - Navy term, WWII-era, meaning Commissioned Officer, prior Enlisted Member. The need of Officers in the swelling Navy Ranks meant the grabbed anybody to fill in the slots, even from the Non-Coms. The reason the term 'Mustang' came to be was that these Officers were generally fast-tracked to higher ranks quicker than their Commissioned-Only brethren due to their age, experience, technical knowledge as Enlisted Members, and their maturity. Many even skipped out being Ensigns (O-1's) and found themselves Lieutenant j.g.'s (O-2's) depending on proficiency and experience, as well as those frocked (battlefield commissions due to need and or gallantry) to such ranks (I.e., Staff Sergeant Audie Murphy was frocked/brevetted a 1st Lieutenant due to his actions, but this wasn't a permanent rank due to the fact he wasn't actually commissioned).

I know, I know, all of you Liara/Garrus/Kaiden/Thane fans are probably scrunching up your faces at Shepard and Collins professing their feelings. But I wanted to make more than a sex-fest relationship, but a more realistic one in which there will be drama, fights, complications, obstacles, and others mishaps that we all endure. If you think about it, the ME relationship plausibly lasts only a month or so, the ME 2 one potentially a few weeks to a month, and the ME 3 one (if you go back for an old squeeze) for a couple of months to perhaps a week or so if you try something new (like Vega or Man/Kai). Every sex scene is at the doorstep to a massively stressful event, with a stress-filled mission that lasts weeks/months, and you think this is… healthy? I know, I know, between Kai's soulful eyes, Ash spouting poetry, Liara's shyness, Garrus and his pragmatism, Tali and her devotion, you all had your favorites. I wanted to create something that wasn't at the doorstop of death and defeat, and tried to make something real. Chief Shepard is, once again, not Commander Shepard. She is still learning and growing, and she's had a tough life, and made some mistakes. We've all been there. Generally, we find someone that helps us pull our heads out of our asses and makes us want to do better for _them_. This is what I wanted to create; that path.


	30. Libera Nos A Malo, X

_Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare..._

 **Armed Forces Network, Channel 37, June 1 2175**

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the three-month wait for the previous chapter and this one. _Nil_ Internet. Argh. Thank God I don't have to hunt for my own food. I mean… I don't even know where tacos live!

* * *

" _Good morning, Alliance! My name is Barbara Buchanan with the Armed Forces Network, and we'll give you the updates on the latest in news, sports, politics, and happenings throughout Earth Alliance Space._

" _Our first story has been one of note for the past week; the Battle of Therum. Starting almost a month ago with a unlikely raid by an Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy on the planet of Revan in the Thermopile System in the Artemis Tau Cluster has led to what many see as the largest victory the Systems Alliance has achieved since the First Push over the skies of Shanxi in 2157. Affiliated stations throughout the Alliance have brought in reports of sweeping raids from a wide variety of law enforcement personnel working in tandem to strike out against the organization dubbed 'the Trail of Tears', first discovered upon Revan in what is now known as 'the House of Horrors'. Marshal Sam Collins, the original investigator of that site, brought to light that outpost and the actions being taken by the organization to propagate one of the worst case of sapient trafficking known to date. Arrests have been made throughout Council Space as the organization's network was exploited through the intel garnered by Marshal Collins, as well as one of the original instigators, one Doctor Vorhen Saelon, who has provided full testimony and accounts in return for immunity from prosecution._

" _The subsequent investigation brought to light an office of corruption and betrayal as one Marshal Bartholomew Weathers, then the Marshal of Therum, was found to have not only been in collusion with the happenings of Revan, but selling to the organization Systems Alliance patrol schedules for ships to avoid investigation. This is included to the charges of falsification of customs documentations and even the conspiracy of murder charges of some thirteen Deputies of his own office, men who had possibly caught on to the dealings and were subsequently betrayed to either the organization, or to the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters, who had been bribing the Marshal to look the other way in their efforts towards organized crime. Weathers will be charged with high treason, as well as falling under the RICO Act for aiding in crimes dealing with a criminal organization, along with the Deputies under his command who were in knowledge of the organization. Bart Weathers faces trial on Earth, and the death penalty will be sought._

" _Nico Dekker, the President of the Planetary Brotherhood of Teamsters and head of the Therum Organized Crime organization, was also subsequently captured by Marshal Collins just a week into her new post. Charged with corruption, weapons smuggling, drug trafficking, and one hundred and fifty-seven counts of rape on a law enforcement agent, Dekker faces trail on Earth after being extradited back to Arcturus to face prosecution. He faces life imprisonment without the possibility of parole if found guilty, and prosecution seeks to have him moved to Venus for his sentence._

" _Garm Jor'raddah, known as Jor'raddah the Jackal, also captured by Marshal Collins, faces prosecution as well. Remanded to Arcturus Station, this highly sought out terrorist has been wanted by every government in Council Space for crimes committed, and several organizations and agencies are involved in the prosecution of the Batarian terrorist, as well as his imprisonment. The Systems Alliance has allowed a legal representative in the prosecution team so that Jor'raddah will be tried for all of his crimes at the same time, each government charging him for his actions. Many seek the death penalty, and in an act of cooperation, the Systems Alliance Court of Law has allowed him to be tried by a Council-appointed Justice while under Alliance jurisdiction. The Batarian Hegemony has remained quiet about the trial for the Jackal, offering nether extradition or a lawyer._

" _The subsequent Battles that followed, that of the Battle of Therum and the Battle of Knossos were officially completed on May 24 when the last remnants of Batarian forces were cleared out of Nova Yekaterinburg and the Batarian Seventh Expeditionary Fleet was captured by the combined forces of Battle Group_ Moctezuma _, the Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla, the Alliance Fourth Fleet, and the Hierarchy's Twenty-Third and Twenty-Seventh Fleets. The Fleet had been surrounded with a quarter of its Fleet lost, and surrendered when Turian and Marine boarding teams took over several of the larger vessel to prevent scuttling and suicide runs. The Systems Alliance Navy and the Turian Hierarchy Navy are currently divvying up the 'prizes' of the Fleet, planning to exploit any intelligence that can be gleaned from the Fleet, as well as who might have ordered the Fleet to enter Alliance Space illegally. The Batarian Minister of Trade, one Kelden Uluador, has called for a cessation of involvement on the Alliances' and Hierarchy's part involving the Fleet, but was subsequently ignored by the Chamber of Governance, ruling that if the Fleet had been sent under Hegemony Military orders, subsequent repartitions would be due to the Alliance, Therum, and the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation. Minister Uluador left the Chamber under his own volition, promising reciprocal action._

" _And as for the brave men and women who fought the Batarian invasion? An award ceremony was held for those who died defending mankind, while a separate one was held for those who still survive. Captain Rhys Llewellyn, Commanding Officer of the Heavy Cruiser SSV_ Canberra _and Battle Group_ Moctezuma _received a Navy Cross for his unorthodox tactics and decision to staying in Knossos Space to hamper Batarian efforts in the system, striking them in a series of radical maneuvers that many are now studying with earnest. Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, a Shanxi Vet and Master-at-Arms of the SSV_ Canberra _, will receive her second Navy Cross for her part in the defense of No'burg, holding the final line against Batarian forces as men and women of the Navy and the Marines stood to the very last with Master Chief Valentino heading the defense, standing defiant to the very last. One Marine contributed her effort as 'a warrior that the Spartans of Old would have recognized as one of their own', quoting Simonides of the Battle of Thermopylae, saying that 'no free man shall ever bend knee'. Lieutenant Commander Patrick Sullivan, Commanding Officer of the Corvette-Class SSV_ Charger _, will likewise get a posthumous Navy Cross for delivering a near-fatal blow to a Batarian_ Capital _-Class Dreadnaught by ramming his evacuated ship into it at FTL. Captain Steven Hackett, Commanding Officer of the Carrier SSV_ Marco Polo _and Tenth Reconnaissance Flotilla, is up for a Distinguished Service Medal for his blitzkrieg-styled drive through the Batarian blockade at the Knossos Relay to aid in the Battle Group's fight against the Batarians, arriving to reinforce the beleaguered Battle Group two hours prior to the arrival of the Alliance Fourth Fleet and the Turian's Fleets. And as for the Marshal of Therum, Marshal Sam Collins received the Alliance Gold Medal, the highest award a civilian can receive, presented to her by none other than President Rickover. When asked to comment on her actions, Marshal Collins replied 'I didn't do it alone', and cited the bravery and skills of the Systems Alliance Sailors and Marines for their efforts in the defense of No'burg. She praised the efforts of not only those in command, but those of the rank-and-file as well, quoting 'when push came to shove, we stood tall and together'. Marshal Collins' replacement on Therum takes office today while Collins herself goes to accept her new posting… on the Citadel._

" _We will continue or coverage and more, after our break."_

 _ **FINE: WHERE THE LAW STANDS TALL**_

* * *

 _An Except for the upcoming sequel of the Peacemaker Series;_ _A Fox Amongst The Wolves_

 **0800 Block, Zakera Wards, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 10 2175**

The X3M Contragravity Public Transportation Vehicle landed in the Citadel Public Transit Authority lot, the integrated-VI systems grabbing the car in an electromagnetic tether and placing it in an available empty slot as Captain Alec Ryder (N7, SAN) and Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins stepped out of the air car, opening gulling doors and finding themselves at the docks of the 0800 Block of the Zakera Wards. The air car lot was in its separate and contained infrastructure, housed by Plexiglas walls that Sam could see through into what would be essentially her new home; the Human Wards. She knew, intellectually, how big they were. Five levels going from the Sky Wards, the Upper Wards, the Mid Ward, the Lower Wards, and finally the Scows, were all contained in Blocks that measured one kilometer in width each, and that there were seven Blocks that represented humanity's 'home' on the Citadel save for a few who worked in the Embassy and diplomatic missions, who had a residency in the Presidium Ring. Seven kilometers long. Five levels wide.

Over two million inhabitants strong.

Sam's eyes looked at the sight of just the 0800 Block, having arrived in the Lower Wards, and able to see at least four of the separate levels going upward, each a hundred meters tall as they stacked on top of one another, following the curve of the Ward Arm of the gigantic Stanford Torus. Each level was some three kilometers thick, staggered by the Citadel's curved nature so that some of the Wards actually extended into 'open' air, four levels having half-a-kilometer with no 'roof' in which was oriented towards the center of the Citadel Arm known as Zakera. The Scows were completely covered, a sort of underground level that extended under the level in which the Citadel's hydroponics ran with trees and water to exchange air, waste products, and filtration for the Station's inhabitants, continuing to the other side of the Wards, those they were not established as a 'humans only' Ward, populated by some of the minor races. Still, Sam felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw a series of skyscrapers inhabiting the open-air portion of the Wards, dominated by businesses and corporations while more buildings and residencies existed under the levels, where a vast majority of the human population lived and worked; their own little world, so to speak. Sam did the math in her head quickly; seven kilometers long, three kilometers wide made for twenty-one square kilometers. Five levels meant that she controlled a hundred and five square kilometers of the human populous on the Citadel. Factor in that there were over two million registered human inhabitants in the Human Wards?

That was over twenty thousand people per square kilometer; near the density population of the city Paris.

The Human Wards were a city unto itself.

Sam found herself staring at the scope of the 0800 Block, her eyes finding the separate levels, seeing the buildings that they occupied, the lights in the windows and signs that hung off their structures while mini-transporter rail systems going both vertical and horizontal provided another means of locomotion as oppose to walking everywhere as air cars were not allowed into the Wards themselves. Over two million human beings inhabited this second and this second alone, and now she was responsible for them all.

 _Mother of God, did I just walk off the frying pan…_

"A little daunting, isn't it?" Ryder asked, the older man noticing her looking upon her new jurisdiction, as well as humanity's first intergalactic post that was upon a foreign soil (or structure, in this case). Nowhere else did a Marshal's Office exist on any colony of a separate species, nor on any other station, outpost, or area of inhabitants. The creation of the Marshal's Office on the Citadel really was a huge step for humanity, as it would give them a little more authority and ability to have a say in matters, to establish that they really were becoming a part of the galactic community as oppose to just occupying a portion of it. "Remember my first time here. Needed a forklift to pick my jaw up off the floor, too."

"That obvious?"

"Yep." The N7 folded his arms across his chest, smiling slightly. "Come, I get you a place to sit and get organized. Ellen knows we're coming, and I don't doubt she'll insist on feeding you. Plus, my Sara and Scott would kill me if I didn't at least let them meet you."

"Lead the way then, Captain." Collins nodded as Alec took the lead, walking towards the lift that would lower them from the CPTA lot and onto the main level of the Lower Wards, the lift's translucent wall giving the Federal Marshal a view of the boulevards, businesses, and shops of the main sheet as she watched the masses of humanity traveling them, going their way towards whatever destination was apt for them. It was still fairly early in the morning, and the hustle and bustle was more-than-likely business traffic, though as she understood it, the 'sun' never did set in the Citadel Wards, the artificial sky always shining. As least the temperature of the Citadel was set at a comfortable if cool fifteen degrees Celsius. The lift lowered to the 'ground' level of the Lower Wards as the translucent partition slid open to give access to those riding on the lift as Captain Ryder once again took charge, Collins following him as she found herself arriving to, of all things, a security checkpoint. There was a line of humans heading towards the station manned by Citadel Security Services, known as C-SEC, and Sam quickly noted that every single one of the ten officers that manned it were Turian. That… was telling.

"Is this common?" Sam asked Alec discretely as they got in line, perhaps a dozen or so people from the front as she studied the procedure; there was a multiscan machine that would access the person who stepped into the marked zone and stood there for five seconds as multiple scanners swept the person in question, looking for what she assumed to be the obvious; explosives, firearms, narcotics, and illegal tech. There was a man being scanned as they entered the line, standing in a common search position with his feet at shoulder-width apart and his arms held out to either side.

"Only in government facilities, C-SEC Academy, and the Human Wards." Alec confirmed, keeping his voice low. "Citadel IdentChips label us as human, and if the place in question doesn't allow it, we can't get in." That filled Collins with unease, hearing of that semi-oppressive stance. She knew there were issues, but that seemed heavy-handed. "And you don't want to be caught in a part of the Citadel you aren't allowed to be in. Trust me on that."

"How much of the Citadel does that entail?" The Marshal asked.

"Pretty much all of it."

The line moved forward as a blue light was given (she'd have to remember that blue was the 'positive' light to humanity's commonly-accepted green) as Sam moved with the line, now suddenly glad she didn't have her weapons at the moment. For her first trip to the Citadel, she decided to play it incognito, to look upon what would be her jurisdiction without advertising her presence. Her stuff was set to arrive in the next day or so through diplomatic means through the Human Embassy, but for now, she was dressed in a sensible shirt and lightweight jacket, a pair of slacks, and decent shoes. She'd doubt anyone would recognize her as the Marshal of Therum if they put a picture right next to her. The line continued to move, and Sam watched as two people were pulled out of the multiscanner for whatever reasons, taken to a small station set aside, the alumniglas walls opaque and certainly foreboding. It reminded her well enough of Spaceport Security when traveling but she had a feeling there was something more sinister to it than that as one Turian Officers ejected a man waiting in line who had decided to get mouthy with the wait, collecting him with some sort of device that locked him up and dragged him away. Collins was appalled at the sight as she looked to Ryder, who minutely shook his head 'no', indicating to leave it be.

No one in line said a word. At all.

"Next monkey!" A Turian manning the terminal at the multiscanner called out as it became Ryder's turn, the N7 walking into the device and standing in the center of it in the same position as everyone else; a vertical spread-eagle. Sam watched as the telltale lights swept over his body, gracing the common clothing that he wore appropriate to the Citadel as the device chimed a few seconds later, a blue light appearing as seven Turian Officers all watched the action, each of their taloned hands carrying a device that Sam had no doubt were different makes and models of pacification tools.

Sam briefly wondered if this was what it felt like to enter into the Warsaw Ghetto of old.

It became her turn, and the 'monkey' stepped forward, complying easily enough as she did the same thing that Alec had done, letting the scanner do its job as she closed her eyes to keep the light band from blinding her and giving her a subsequent headache. The scanner finished and chimed, a blue light appearing as Collins finished going through the checkpoint as she watched at least two of the Turians leer at her uglily, one of them tapping his rod against his armored thigh, classic intimidation. She got the gist of the suggestion and turned her attention away, her mood foul as she walked towards where Alec stood, seeing nearby on the wall near the station a bit of graffiti. The wall's white surface had been marred with black spray paint, undoubtedly a 'tag app' on someone's OmniTool. It almost seemed like a bit of teenaged rebellion until she read the three bold words that had been immortalized on the wall, large and plain for all to see. She had to only read it once, and the sight of it chilled her. It simply read;

' **HUMAN LIVES MATTER** '

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, that will be a part of the sequel. In fact, that excerpt is a gleaning of the First Arc: Human Lives Matter. You have been warned.

And you thought Therum was bad.

Wait? Doctor Saelon went free? As he was not 'the' ringleader, but a facilitator, he is the kind of person that would turn in his benefactors and underlings to get away scot-free. After all, the first squeal gets the best deal. And he did exist in Mass Effect 1. I had thought of using a brother or someone of the same clan (Saelon is the name of a Salarian family, after all) but why make up a new asshole when I can have the original for free? I did say you were going to hate that fucker.

Pretty much all the 'hard' information about the Citadel is true; in 2183, the Human population was over 2 million. While humans weren't 'confined', out of a 13 million person population, that's… pretty substantial. I will be making the human race second place; we are now the minority. With the animosity between the Turians and humans that seemed to exist in the first game, I'm jumping right into the empty pool, aiming for the deep end.

And Paris does have a population density of about 21,000 per square kilometer, 2015 census.


	31. To The Fans And Contributors

**To The Fans and Supporters of this Story.**

* * *

Where The Law Stands Tall was a long endeavor to create, adding to the Mass Effect Universe with my own ideas of weapons, armor, tactics, and personnel. It was slated to be a cop story in a time when law enforcement have taken some hits due to public perceptions that somehow their job is easy. Should they hold themselves to a higher standard? Yes. Are they allowed to err? Yes, they are people, too. Most don't realize just how hard a job being a cop is, and American Law Enforcement Officers have some of the most stringent standards throughout the world, and we generally have the 'nicest' cops. I'm not kidding, and that's not really just an opinion. Anyone that's been in another country and have seen police officers armed with automatic weapons and a populous subjugated would agree with me. Take a trip to Mexico if you need an example. And don't mouth off to the RCMP.

Samantha Collins was an Original Character that I had developed about two years ago for a story that didn't pan out, the Ghosts of Experiments Past, where she was to be a trial run for Cerberus on how to rebuild Shepard. She was to be an Alliance Marshal who had been grievously injured, losing both legs and an arm, as well as having severe damage throughout her body due to a bombing. She consciously chose an experimental endeavor that would 'fix' her, not knowing it was Cerberus in which she ends up a good deal like RoboCop, becoming a cyborg that was to be a blend between RoboCop, the Terminator, and Motoko Kusinagi of Ghost in the Shell. Most of that story was to focus on her struggles on defining what makes one human along with Commander Shepard, Jack Zero, Miranda Lawson, and Grunt, whom were all experiments of one form or another. Sam's 'big' issues was that she was a wife and a mother, but also 90% cybernetic as Cerberus couldn't help but constantly upgrading her to the point where only her brain and a few organs were biological, and she almost completely lost her ability to feel emotionally, becoming less and less 'human' as the story continued. It ended up getting too depressing when she tried committing suicide when she couldn't remember how to feel love for her daughter and failed to kill herself because her skull was made out of a iridium alloy and diamond lattice matrix, so I canned it. But Sam the character was a good one, a Catholic who struggled to be 'better', a cop who tried hard to stay on the high horse.

The story evolved as I wrote it, and the original is quite different from the finished product. Originally, Captain Rhys Lewellyn was to be the antagonist, and the occupation of No'burg was to be done by the SA, where Sam, a few Deputies, and a few MP's, were to be the protagonists. It didn't fit my vision of what I wanted, so I created the more 'cop-like' story that ended up being the Therum Arc and Libera Nos A Malo Arc, using a Teamster to start things, reusing Garm Jor'raddah to have a reason for the Batarians show up. That portion could have been a lot longer, easily extending 'weeks' in story time, but with Mass Effect technology, I really see wars as being fast yet devastating.

The release of Mass Effect: Andromeda changed a few things in the story, with the inclusion of the Smith and Wesson Model 696 MA Revolver (which is modeled after the Sidewinder) and the inclusion of Alec Ryder. A few other Andromeda members will make appearances later on, such as Zevin Raeka (the Salarian Pathfinder).

Sam… may or may not be a SPECTRE. But now that you see where the bar is for SPECTREs thanks to Libera Nos A Malo VIII, you now have an idea of where I want the Office of Special Tactics to go. I have notes and ideas about the Office of Special Tactics (as well as its dummy front, the Office of Civil Complaints) and have modeled it after MI-5/6 of British Intelligence.

It was interesting using the 'Specters' of the game; Nihlus Kryik, Tela Vasir, and Jondum Bau. So little is known of them, but each managed to make themselves rather well known. Nihlus, despite being alive for all of 5 minutes in the first game, is widely used in FanFic'dom. Tela was one of the hardest fights in the trilogy, and Jondum actually was what I expected of a Specter (an Intelligence Operative). Sadly, they all die quickly, and still very little is known of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. Avitus Rix certainly didn't add to it, either.

 **To my followers, who helped me continue on.**

1lipstick

Aftermath212

AlsoKnownAsMatt

Blue-Black Flames

Hazel R

Kothir

Kudara

Lord Curly

LordSalt

Lord Schmodder

Ny'Kle (and your many messages, insights, and pointers for corrections!)

Scorpio-666

Sevoris

Surprise Crayfish

Tergen

TheAwesomeEagleHD

Tsunami71380iiiii

ZShogan

Zelman101

Billiam13

Bingsu

Colbylg

Fan-rei

Grohiik

Jessitimm5491

Mira111

Natamanchuck

Sol113

Sonicchaos1998

Spiral83

Tamakaru2

The late Aimee

vkuchhal

 **To my Contributors, Reviewers and your many insights**

Aftermath212 (and the comments of awesomeness of SPECTREs and overkill!)

AnotherBoardUser (for nagging me worse than my ex about when the next chapter was coming out. Honestly did need that at times!)

AlsoKnownAsMatt (and your witty sense of humor)

Butters101

Chrome23 (for making me come up with a list of SPECTREs and Villains worthy of sweating about)

Kudara (because you wanted to know what that bed was shaped like. Yes, it's shaped like _that_. Because we all need toys)

Ny'kle (#1 fan, commenter, and hardcase on all things physics and canon. Everyone needs someone like you to keep themselves off the retardation radar)

RantingsOfAMadman (because the name says it all)

Scorpio-666 (because bullets are awesome)

Sol113

Tsunami71380iiiii

* * *

Now sit back and enjoy the sequel: A Fox Amongst The Wolves.

Freshman year is over, Sam…


End file.
